School's Out
by o0-Key-0o
Summary: A contest of semiomnipotent wits, a thieving dwarf, a bitter elleth, a sarcastic guy, an odd girl, and a lost elf. And now introducing a slightly spastic captain! You do the math...or you could just read it. New: Chapter 30!
1. Where All Must Start

Chapter One: Where All Must Start  
  
  
  
Will this guy never shut up? He says the same thing over and over every single day!!! Kaylee snickered to herself as she read the note her best friend had written and passed up to her. The extra exclamation points underlined Lyra's agitation all too well. She herself could easily fall asleep just listening to Mr. Stiles, and Kaylee almost never got sleepy at this point in the day.  
  
"…so what are you memorizing for Friday?" the corpulent teacher with graying hair asked, gazing over the class in what he assumed was a friendly yet imperious manner.  
  
There was a general groan from the class, and one girl, Talia, who was still partially awake and coherent answered, "Proverbs three, verses five and six."  
  
RIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!  
  
Kaylee slammed her notebook shut with a thud. "It's about time," she muttered, shoving the books she'd left on the floor to one side and made a beeline to the door. Lyra was only inches behind her, and the two of them raced for their lockers. Other students filed into the hallway from their respective classes, and soon it was like slogging through quicksand. Kaylee wished people would hurry up and get out of her way without stopping to socialize. As a senior, her locker was all the way at the other end of the corridor, and her next class was in the room she had just vacated so quickly. She needed her textbook, because they were starting a new chapter.  
  
Someone crashed into her from the side, and Kaylee recoiled, dropping her binder. It landed just so that the papers popped loose from the rings and went scattering across the hall.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"  
  
Kaylee let out a sigh, trying not to let her temper take over. It was too early to be in a bad mood. She squatted and began sweeping her papers together, before looking back over her shoulder to see Julie, a junior, bend down to retrieve the binder.  
  
"It's okay Julie, I should have been watching where I was going," she sighed, cramming everything back into the notebook and turning away to spin the dial on her locker. Seven…nine…three. The door sprang open, and Kaylee's chemistry book fell out. She exhaled irritably, her breath hissing between her clenched teeth. Viciously she shoved her binder, loose papers and all onto the single shelf inside and pulled out her economics book before grabbing the errant chem book and stuffing it back where it belonged.  
  
Sunlight glinted off the metal locker door as Kaylee slammed it shut, illuminating a strange scuff-mark right in the center. She spared only a moment to decide that she didn't what to know what had made it, before sprinting back down the hall, hoping to make it to class before the bell rang.  
  
*******  
  
"You did what?"  
  
"I have chosen the Scout."  
  
"Yes, yes, I know that. But another universe? You couldn't simply have picked one from ours?"  
  
Shkena's velvety voice was calm. "It is no different than you selecting the Peacekeeper or the Healer. You have chosen them from other places as well."  
  
Her opponent grumbled and sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "Yes, but at least their roughly within the same timeframe as one another. The Scout's society is much more advanced. Don't you think that she will have a hard time adapting?"  
  
"Austus, you impossible man. One thing that you should know by now is that I never leave anything to chance. While she may find things difficult, I have placed an unconscious desire, curiosity even, to see this test through to the end." Shkena quirked a pale eyebrow at him.  
  
"And I say that she will not last a week. You females and your meddling," Austus muttered darkly, snatching up a goblet of nectar from the laid table in front of him.  
  
Shkena laughed lightly, her melodic voice tingling in Austus' ears. "That is what makes it so entertaining, do you not agree? Besides, I have found you interfering often enough to know that men, especially great and powerful ones like you, cannot resist dabbling in the natural course of events." Her silken dress whispered around her alluring frame as she moved to perch on Austus' knee.  
  
He set his cup down, glaring up at her with his brown eyes. Then all rebelliousness melted away as he shifted so that Shkena fell into his lap. "I do enjoy these games of ours," he said as he kissed her.  
  
When at last they broke apart gently, she smiled angelically at him, an expression that suited her lovely face, framed by golden curls. "But of course, my husband."  
  
  
  
[A/N: I'm off on a bunny trail that was inspired by my locker. Seriously, there IS a strange scuff mark on it. Ah, the things that our muses run away with… pretty please review for me!!! I'm a poor low-esteemed author, help me feel better! ( ] 


	2. Ghosts?

Chapter Two: Ghosts?  
  
  
  
"Wait, don't leave! Beautiful Shkena, please!" He was too late, the powerful woman had vanished.  
  
His companion grunted from where he leaned against the stone wall. "Nice try, Mychal. She is a very strong being, I doubt you can tell her what to do."  
  
Mychal rounded on his companion, his dark eyes intense with fury. "I did not ask to be the Warrior! I do not even know what we are to do."  
  
"And I did not ask to be the Keeper. But you are wrong on one point, you do know what we are to do right now." Firar took a file out of one of his many pockets and began to sharpen the spikes on his mace.  
  
The Warrior gritted his teeth. "I am nobody's messenger boy! I refuse to go and retrieve this 'Scout'." He began to pace around the room, strong frame tense with anger.  
  
Firar never looked up from his task. "You cannot refuse, for the beautiful Shkena can make you do anything she wishes. I will not defy her."  
  
Mychal muttered something viciously under his breath in response. Firar sighed. "When you are finished griping and complaining, please inform me so that we can begin this task."  
  
The man stopped and glared down at him. "For a dwarf, you do not anger easily," Mychal said with a touch of bitterness in his voice.  
  
"And as a man, you anger far too quickly," Firar observed, putting the file away and slipping his mace through a loop on his belt. "Shall we go?"  
  
The Warrior looked at him for a long moment, then sagged in resignation. "If we must."  
  
As if waiting to hear these words from the reluctant Mychal's mouth, the heavy door to the room swung open silently, revealing a hallway both knew was certainly not of their world. The corridor appeared vacant, but the walls were of some kind of shiny stone, and the floor was tiled in odd patterns. It was brightly lit, but there were no torches. Mychal checked the sword at his belt, before steeling himself. "Are you sure you wish to do this?" he asked Firar.  
  
The dwarf shrugged. "We have no choice. Let us get it done with." Boldly, he stepped into the strange hall.  
  
Mychal balked as Firar seemed to fade before his eyes, becoming a mere outline. He summoned his courage and passed through the doorway. A shiver through the Warrior, and he glanced at his hands, only to see that he had become a mere shadow as well. Yet they still felt as solid as ever. "Odd," he murmured.  
  
His companion snorted impatiently. "If you're through gawking, let us find this symbol Shkena described. We are not visible so that others cannot see us."  
  
"But what will the Scout say when all he hears is our voices coming out of nowhere?" Mychal asked, arching an eyebrow.  
  
Firar shrugged, but the man did not see it. "Perhaps he will be the only one that can see us." He strode over to a pale wooden door with a window, but was too short to look in. Grumbling to himself, the dwarf twisted the knob and shoved it open before Mychal could stop him.  
  
"Firar! What are you doing?" he hissed, pressing against the wall to one side so that the occupants within couldn't see him.  
  
The Keeper looked into the room and gasped before yanking the door shut. "Indecency!" he said in a shocked tone. "Those women reveal far too much!" The dwarf's faint outline seemed to gasp for air. Interested, Mychal moved to peer through the window for himself. The maidens were clad in odd gowns that were cut open along the sides, displaying dark legs and feet. Their short blouses left both neck and arm exposed, and even the Warrior conceded that the garments worn were very inadequate.  
  
"The men have no armor! How do they defend themselves?" he asked incredulously. And those odd contraptions they were sitting in. They appear so rickety a good breath of wind would topple them."  
  
Firar was muttering darkly to himself as he looked around at the strange stone walls. "What sort of castle is this?" the dwarf demanded, more to himself than to Mychal.  
  
The Warrior pulled his attention from the window and spotted a piece of parchment stuck to the wall. Walking near enough to read it, he was not surprised to see that he understood none of the strange symbols scribbled upon it. "I do not know, but it would seem that we are nowhere near our village."  
  
"Indeed." Firar's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I am so pleased you have noticed."  
  
Mychal glared at his friend, or where he supposed he was. "We cannot waste any more time. Let us find the strange marking Shkena left upon one of the doors and find the Scout."  
  
"Yes, let's," came the growled reply. Together they crept cautiously down the hall, gazing in wonder at the strange lights in the ceiling that had no flame. They came to a row of green doors, an odd sort of metal. They were smaller than the wooden ones, and had small knobs with more symbols on them.  
  
Mychal tried twisting one experimentally, but nothing happened. "It must be one of these. Shkena said to look for the one bearing the fork of a crescent moon, for to everything there is two sides, two choices. Two ways to see." He paused, then glanced at Firar. "Correct?"  
  
The Keeper grunted. "And the way I see things is that there is no such rune upon these doors. It must be further down this passage." He moved off quickly, wishing to find the elusive scout as soon as possible and get away from this place of loose women. Mychal followed, brown eyes probing the green faces of the doors to the left and to the right.  
  
At last the pair reached the end of the long hallway, and the man turned from the set of doors before him and sighed. "I did not see it, did you?"  
  
The dwarf shook his head, then realized that Mychal could not see him. "Nay. Do you think it is elsewhere in this castle?" The last word was filled with distaste.  
  
"It may be disguised so that others will not become suspicious. Perhaps there is a certain kind of light needed to see it by?"  
  
Firar walked to the nearest metal door and studied it carefully. "I see nothing on this one." He craned his neck side to side as he examined it from every angle. "Alas, I fear it is no good, we will never find it."  
  
Mychal stepped to the next door and repeated the same movements. "Wait…wait! See here, this mark fades when you look at it directly, but when light shines upon it, it is visible! And it is a crescent with a fork in it. The Scout must be in here!" He turned the tiny knob one way, and then back again. Having no luck, the Warrior crouched to examine the lock better. "Ah, there is some sort of lever." He spun the knob once more, then jerked on the latch. Nothing happened.  
  
"Stand aside, Mychal. Let an expert handle this. There has not been a lock invented that I cannot pick," Firar bragged, his invisible hand pushing his friend out of the way. He knelt on the odd tiles, fishing through an unseen pocket for a pick of some kind. The dwarf quickly inserted it into the minute keyhole and began to poke around. In seconds he pulled on the latch, and the door sprang open.  
  
If either of them had hoped to find the Scout inside, they were badly mistaken. Instead, what looked like a small closet greeted them. There were several books inside, along with countless sheets of parchment and some type of pack. Mychal and Firar exchanged invisible looks with each other.  
  
"What is your thought on our next plan?" the Warrior sighed, sitting on the floor to one side of the open closet.  
  
The dwarf pulled out the bag and began to look through it for valuable things, as Keepers tended to do. "I believe that this closet must belong to the Scout, so he should return to it soon enough. We wait."  
  
Mychal was impatient. "Yes, but for how long?"  
  
RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG!  
  
[A/N: Yes, I know it's a longer chapter, but I had to fit this all in. It's probably not as long as I think it is, so I'll just stop now. Please R & R for me, I like feedback!] 


	3. The Girl Who Cried Ghost

Chapter Three: The Girl Who Cried Ghost  
  
"Hey Lyra, do you believe in ghosts?" Kaylee asked as she dropped her chemistry stuff on the table they shared in the lab room. She shot a wary glance out the door, in the direction of her locker.  
  
Her friend pulled out a rickety lab stool and sat down amidst a chorus of squeaks. "To some extent, yeah. Why?" Lyra's icy blue eyes were quizzical behind her silver-rimmed glasses.  
  
Kaylee shrugged as she too seated herself and Mr. Curtis opened up his teacher's textbook. "I think I just saw some." It sounded stupid the moment she said it.  
  
Lyra rolled her eyes skeptically. "Right, sure Kay. And pigs fly on Tuesdays."  
  
"No, I'm serious, Lyra! I really did see something near my locker." Kaylee's raised voice prompted Mr. Curtis to ask:  
  
"Kaylee, what did we talk about yesterday in class?"  
  
She wracked her brain desperately for the answer. "Um…the first law of thermodynamics."  
  
"Which is…?"  
  
"That energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred," Kaylee reeled off, quite proud of herself. She tuned Curtis out as he went on to harass Lynn, another senior. She ducked her head and turned back to Lyra.  
  
"Don't you believe me?"  
  
Her best friend gave her one of her patented no-nonsense looks. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"  
  
"Didn't you see my locker? It was open when we came out of English, but by the time I reached it, it had been shut. And there were two outlined ghost people standing nearby…almost as if they were watching for me." Kaylee began to tap her pen against the table in repressed nervousness.  
  
"I think you didn't get enough sleep and you're hallucinating."  
  
She sighed. Maybe Lyra was right. Perhaps she was imagining things. It was entirely possible that her locker had not shut properly the last time she'd closed it and a freak gust of wind had blown it open, then shut. The outlines could have been a trick of the light.  
  
Kaylee had nearly convinced herself of the idea, when she looked back towards the closed classroom door and saw a clearly defined, yet definitely insubstantial face peering in. She jerked reflexively, and her binder fell crashing to the floor. Half the class, who had been dozing off, jumped.  
  
"Sorry," she mumbled, moving slowly to pick up the loose papers that had fallen out.  
  
"Kaylee, are you done being a distraction in my class?" Mr. Curtis demanded, looking up from his book.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Curtis." By the time she had cleaned everything up and resumed her seat, the face at the window was gone.  
  
The rest of the period went smoothly, but Kaylee continued to jump at every noise that seemed out of place. When the bell rang, she followed Lyra reluctantly, glancing both ways before venturing to her locker.  
  
Shoving her chemistry materials inside, she grabbed her backpack and jacket and headed off for band class. The stage tended to be drafty, and Kaylee donned her coat as she made her way down the hall. She chanced to look up, and her chin hit the floor at the same time her book bag did.  
  
Approaching her swiftly and silently through the crowd of teenagers rushing to get to class were two apparitions. They could only be spirits, for the sunlight from the doors at the end of the hall shone through them quite clearly. Kaylee didn't stick around to see what they wanted; she bolted onto the stage and shut the door behind her, heart racing.  
  
A frantic knocking sounded, and Kaylee backed away. A short seventh-grader named Colin pushed past her and opened the door before she could protest. In the doorway stood Talia, holding Kaylee's bag and looking bewildered.  
  
"Hey Kaylee, why did you drop your bag and run like that? You looked like you'd seen a ghost," the other girl said in a puzzled tone.  
  
She rushed to tack her backpack, then asked Talia urgently, "Did you see anything strange walking down the hall?"  
  
Talia gave her an odd look from the corners of her eyes before replying. "No…why?"  
  
Kaylee tried to get a grip on her nerves. "Oh, no reason." Shakily she grabbed her music folder and made her way to her seat, mechanically taking her flute case from her book bag and assembling the instrument. Mrs. Stein, the director, struck the first note of the warm-up scale. She played numbly, missing the fourth and fifth steps, and causing the second- chair flutist to give her a strange look.  
  
"You okay Kaylee?"  
  
"What? Oh, I'm fine Chrissy. No problem. What are we playing first?" Kaylee asked to distract the other girl.  
  
"Invicta. I'm so glad we're not doing West Side Story for the concert. The second flutes sound horrible."  
  
Kaylee laughed, but it sounded forced. "I know." She raised her flute as Mrs. Stein stood ready, baton raised. She struck the downbeat, and the fanfare prelude began. The music climbed and ebbed, slowed and softened, crescendoed and flowed. Kaylee tried to let herself become lost in the notes, but her irrational fears sill lingered in the back of her mind.  
  
She had just begun to calm down, when she pulled her eyes away from the music and looked out into the gymnasium, where the stage opened to. There stood two figures, one tall and one short. The harsh fluorescent lighting seemed to seep right through them, and Kaylee dropped her flute and let out a strangled cry.  
  
"Chrissy! Can you see them?" she pointed with a shaking finger.  
  
The other flutist looked to where Kaylee was pointing, and asked, "See who?"  
  
Kaylee did not know what to do. Obviously she was being haunted by these phantoms. But what did they want with her? And how did she get rid of them?  
  
[A/N: Hey, imagine if you saw two weirdo guys at YOUR school. I mean, moreso than normal. As always, I am review-hungry! Feed the muse that likes to sleep in the soup pot! Thank you!] 


	4. Harder Than We Thought

Chapter Four: Harder Than We Thought  
  
It was difficult to say who was more surprised when the bell rang, Firar or Mychal. They were nearly crushed by the tide of children pouring from the other rooms into the hallway. Mychal quickly grabbed the dwarf by his collar and pulled him into a corner as a boy approached the locked closet next to their target and spun the dial. Suddenly he stopped and peered into the Scout's closet which Firar had left open. Mentally berating himself, Mychal reached out and gently pushed the door shut.  
  
Firar's eyes were focused on the crowd and he saw one girl blanch visibly at the sight of the closet shutting all by itself. The Keeper tugged on Mychal's sleeve and made a small noise in his throat, so as not to attract attention. The Warrior peered ahead and his eyes lighted as he watched the girl step nearer the closet. Firar muttered something about loose women and indecency as she studied the door, then tentatively spun the knob.  
  
She cast a glance over one shoulder, green eyes narrowed in suspicion as the door opened at her touch.  
  
"No…" Firar muttered, at the same time Mychal said, "It can't be…"  
  
As if alerted to their whispers, the girl looked around as she removed a couple books and shut the door. A startled look appeared on her face as she gazed directly at them and backed up a few steps. Before either of them could react or say anything, however, she entered a nearby room very quickly and swung the door shut behind her.  
  
The hallway began to empty of students, so Firar and Mychal felt justified in speaking. "That half-naked girl is the Scout?" the dwarf demanded in disbelief.  
  
Mychal scratched his stubbled chin. "I think she was clothed a bit more decently than some of the others. I cannot believe Shkena. Only a woman would do something like this." He shook his head. "Perhaps she is not the Scout. Perhaps she only heard us and grew frightened."  
  
The Keeper grunted doubtfully and walked to the door. Mychal followed and seized his wrist before he could open it. "Let me look through the window. We do not need to start rumors of spirits in this castle." The Warrior studied the occupants of the room carefully, spying the tall girl hunched over on a tall seat, talking to a friend. He observed her for a few moments, when unexpectedly she turned and looked back at him.  
  
All doubts were laid to rest as her eyes widened and she started, one of her books falling off the table she sat at. Mychal quickly pulled Firar away from the door and they hurried down the hall, not wishing to possibly be discovered should someone think there were ghosts in the hallway.  
  
"She must be the Scout, for she can see us quite clearly. I feared she would faint when she saw my face in the window," the Warrior sighed.  
  
"Then she is too frightened to listen to us? How then shall we convince her that she is needed?" Firar sounded like he was contemplating an idea.  
  
Mychal shook his head as he seated himself against a wall. "I do not know."  
  
Had he been able to clearly see the dwarf's eyes, the Warrior would have noticed with some trepidation the mischievous gleam growing in them.  
  
"Mychal my friend, I have a plan."  
  
The man eyed his companion warily. "Does this plan involve barrels, wine, and dark clothing? Because last time you had an idea, we spent half a year in prison."  
  
Firar sputtered. "It would have worked, had you not tripped over that sleeping dog. He woke up the entire village in seconds. No, this plan is better. How do you get a woman?"  
  
Whatever the Warrior had been expecting him to say, it was not that. "Firar, you of all people I would never think of telling. I would not want to injure your morals about females."  
  
The dwarf let out a warning rumble. "We are not discussing how I would woo one; we are discussing the primal nature of man. You would tie her up and carry her off, would you not?"  
  
"I…" Mychal wasn't sure how to respond. "Well…"  
  
"The correct answer is yes. I know exactly how you think. Anyway, my thought is that we should simply capture her and take her back with us, then explain everything when she cannot return and we do not appear like spirits."  
  
Mychal responded with the only argument he could think of. "But we have no rope."  
  
Firar tsked. "I am a Keeper! I prepare for all eventualities. I have rope."  
  
"How do you propose to go about this?"  
  
"It is simple. We wait for that alarm to ring, and we capture her when she comes out."  
  
"Firar, do you not think that others will see her fighting with two unseen beings? I have no doubt she has already told someone about the ghosts she has seen. We may be unseeable, but we are still solid."  
  
The dwarf pondered for a moment. "When she is alone, then. Come, let us scout out this territory while we wait for our chance."  
  
Time passed quickly as the pair explored the 'castle.' They saw many things which made them stare in befuddlement and wonder. The bell rang again, and they swiftly returned to the corridor they had first appeared in, to watch for the Scout.  
  
At last they spied her, making her way down the hall, looking very nervous as she pulled a jacket on. She glanced up and saw the dwarf and man standing before her, and her mouth dropped open. Her pack fell from her grip and she ran away before Mychal could say anything.  
  
"Flighty as a squirrel, she is," Firar muttered. They moved tried unsuccessfully to follow her, finding the door she had entered locked. Another girl, similar in age to the Scout picked up the forgotten bag and knocked on the door. Mychal glimpsed a large group of people in the large room beyond. He and Firar had not been able to get inside earlier, for it had been securely latched.  
  
"That is not going to work," the Warrior muttered. "There are too many people about."  
  
"There must be another way to get in there," the dwarf mused. "It appears we will have more time than we thought to capture her." He stomped off, presumably to search for another entrance. Mychal had no choice but to follow.  
  
Eventually, some type of music filtered to their ears, and they stopped to listen. It was unlike anything either had ever heard. It was not the untamed melody of a beggar playing for money, neither was it a happy and carefree tune like that of a carnival musician. It seemed forceful, and dark. Mychal wanted to see where it came from. It seemed to be created by a multitude of different instruments, and he was curious to know just what they were.  
  
"Where are you going?" Firar demanded as the Warrior pulled open a heavy door marked with more indiscernible script.  
  
"To see the music."  
  
"Foolish man. You cannot see music," the dwarf protested. But Mychal did not listen as he descended a short staircase and strode to the middle of a painted wooden floor. He was gaining confidence in the knowledge that nobody but the Scout could see him. Unfortunately, the Scout was sitting on the edge of the raised dais that all the musicians were seated upon, playing some form of lute. When she caught sight of the two 'apparitions' standing in the middle of the room, she choked on a scream and nearly dropped her lute on the ground. She said something to the person next to her in the unidentifiable tongue of her world, but the other merely gazed in their direction blankly, clearly not seeing anything.  
  
"I fear she may bring down the castle guards upon us," Firar whispered, even though neither had seen any soldiers about. "We should take her now, whilst she is within our grasp."  
  
The Scout was still staring directly at them, a mixture of fear and disbelief on her face. She appeared ready to bolt again, but something held her in her chair.  
  
"I do not think she will be going anywhere, Firar. I think she is obliged to attend this meeting of musicians until the alarm tolls once again. We can get her then."  
  
Just then, the Scout said something in her strange language and rose suddenly, exiting the dais quickly and running for the door Mychal and Firar had entered by. They did not know where she was going, but now was the best chance they had.  
  
"Come, Firar!" Mychal lengthened his stride and leapt up the stairs in one bound, passing through the closing door before it shut. He spied the Scout already at the end of another corridor, looking back over her shoulder with an expression of terror in her eyes. If possible, her pace increased even more, and she dashed into another room, the Warrior in hot pursuit.  
  
The Keeper, however, was taking his time and performing his duty. The dwarf had noticed that the girl had left most of her belongings behind, and such wastefulness was simply not acceptable. Carefully, and without attracting too much attention, Firar walked up on the dais and slid the Scout's bag to the edge, allowing it to simply fall to the floor. He also purloined the curious lute, wondering how much silver he could get for it. Such thoughts were only fitting for a Keeper. The dwarf was reasonably sure nobody had noticed his little theft, indeed, they shouldn't have noticed. A good Keeper never allowed himself to be caught. Unfortunately, Firar's reputation was already stained by that wine-incident with Mychal.  
  
He concealed the lute in one of his many invisible pockets, and then jumped off the edge of the platform to collect the Scout's bag. He strapped it to his back, before removing some rope from a pouch at his waist. Firar ran as fast as his short legs would carry him, tracking Mychal down many hallways. That girl could move! he thought to himself, withdrawing another item from a cleverly concealed hole in his leggings. The dwarf caught up to his shadowy companion as he stood wrestling with the Scout, whom he had finally caught when she had slipped on a strange stick on the floor.  
  
She was yelling something unintelligible as she fought with the Warrior. He was superior in strength, but she was motivated by emotions greater than physical might.  
  
"Wait, calm down, we are not going to hurt you," Mychal tried to say, an instant before her fingernails caught him across his transparent face. Startled, he let her go, and the girl was off again, running as swiftly as she could recover. He touched his cheek gingerly, able to feel the blood, but not to see it.  
  
"You may not hurt her, but I make no promises," the dwarf growled, unfurling the object he held, which turned out to be a leather thong weighted on both ends with fist-sized rocks. Unhesitatingly, he threw it; it wrapped around the Scout's legs, tying them together and causing her to fall full-length on the hard floor.  
  
Her breath came in ragged gasps as Mychal helped Firar tie her up. Just to be safe, they also gagged her, and the Warrior picked her up and spoke very slowly and clearly.  
  
"We are not going to cause you any harm. Do you understand?"  
  
The Scout's face showed that she did not.  
  
Firar and Mychal exchanged glances. "This is going to be more difficult than we expected," the first muttered.  
  
"Mmmmph!" The girl's sudden exclamation made both of them turn around. In the nearest doorway was a portal similar to the one that had brought them to the castle.  
  
"Good, at least one thing that goes smoothly," the Warrior sighed, gazing unhappily at their captive. He prodded her forward, but she balked. Suddenly his temper flared. In one broad movement he drew his sword and forced her at blade-point through the mystic gate. He and Firar were only too happy to leave the strange castle behind.  
  
[A/N: Wow, the longest chapter yet! Thank God for laptops, I love mine! (Graduation present from my wonderful grandparents. How I enjoy being spoiled!) I'm going to beg for reviews again, but it appears that nobody has actually read this anyway. Oh well. REVIEW PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZEEEEE!!!!!! ( ] 


	5. There's A Wall There

Chapter Five: There's A Wall There  
  
Kaylee was scared. Not just sort of uncomfortable-scared, but an icy-fist- of-terror-around-her-heart scared. She'd been kidnapped. The word seemed unfamiliar as it reverberated through her brain. Kidnapping was something you heard about on television, it was never supposed to happen to you. And certainly not by ghosts!  
  
Yet, by the time she'd unwillingly passed through the strange doorway that was supposed to lead to the copier room, Kaylee was almost positive that she was not dealing with ghosts. The two men weren't dead, at any rate. She could see where she'd left claw-marks on the taller's face, and ghosts did not bleed. Her mind seemed frozen upon her predicament, and she noted every detail about her abductors through a haze of fear.  
  
Their clothes were crude and dirty, and the bigger one had a sword. A sword he would probably use to cut her up into smaller pieces when he was finished having his way with her… Kaylee attempted to squash that thought immediately, but it wouldn't leave her alone. The big man looked like he was a desperate criminal. His had scraggly black hair that looked as if it hadn't been washed or trimmed in weeks, and from the look of him, he didn't believe in a shave for more than two months at a time. His features were hard and sharply defined, and his shadowed eyes studied her cunningly as he fingered the marks she had inflicted upon his face.  
  
His companion said something, and Kaylee wheeled sharply as the child-sized man moved around behind her. She didn't know what to expect, and didn't want to be taken by surprise. But her movement allowed the first kidnapper to reach out towards the back of her head. She jerked reflexively, ducking and kicking out with one foot, catching him in the knee. He recoiled, jaw clenched in pain. Kaylee danced back a few steps, wanting to keep both of them in clear view, and also putting herself out of arms-length of the tall one.  
  
Somewhere in the back of her head she knew she was not making this very easy for herself, all her well-placed lucky hits would inevitably come back to haunt her later. But for now, Kaylee had successfully managed to keep both men at bay, tied and gagged as she was.  
  
The tall man's patience was obviously running thin, but he held out open hands to supposedly show his peaceful intentions. Kaylee continued to back away, until she ran up against a cold stone wall. It felt like doom itself as the two men closed in on her. She yanked frantically at the rope that tied her hands behind her back, causing her wrists to chafe and bleed all over the back of her jacket, but she did not notice. All Kaylee could hear was the beating of her heart in her ears.  
  
The short one muttered something, drawing a slim, pointed dagger from his belt. She tensed, but had nowhere to flee as the tall man reached toward her again. Kaylee tried to twist her head to one side, but he was faster, and he tore the strip of cloth gagging her away from her mouth, then stepped back.  
  
Kaylee was unsure as to what he had meant by that action, as he pronounced something very slowly to her, pointing to himself.  
  
"My-chal." His name, she guessed as he talked to his diminutive friend.  
  
The other gave a hang-dog look and repeated the gesture. "Firar."  
  
She studied them before replying in kind. "Kay-lee." She was not certain where all this was leading, but her fight or flight instincts were screaming at her. One thing she did know was that she was still at their mercy, which definitely was a disadvantage.  
  
And then, a sweet musical sound seemed to fill the air. With a start, Kaylee recognized it as laughter. It was beautiful and sonorous, seeming to fill the entire chamber with light. An glowing ethereal vision of unsurpassed beauty appeared before the three startled people, and the two men knelt in reverence. She wondered who this new arrival was, and why her fear was melting away so quickly.  
  
"Welcome, Kaylee. I hope Mychal and Firar have both made you feel at home."  
  
Kaylee snorted without meaning to. She caught herself hastily and replied, "To be honest, I'm very scared."  
  
The woman smiled. "You do not need to be. They would not harm you unless I asked them to."  
  
Somehow that idea did not put Kaylee's nerves at ease. "You didn't, did you?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
"No, my child. They have brought you here at my bidding. One thing I will tell you, and one thing I will give. I tell you this: that you are the Scout."  
  
Kaylee opened her mouth to protest, she had so many questions, and at least this strange, glowing woman who controlled the two men kneeling before her could answer them in a language Kaylee comprehended. But the woman continued, "And this is my gift to you. Never lose it, or your voice shall be in peril." And then, like a television set that had been turned off, her image contracted into a sphere of light that hovered for a moment, then faded.  
  
Kaylee blinked, as if rousing herself from a dream. Her hands had been untied, and something small and hard was clenched in her right hand. Slowly she uncurled her fingers and stared in awe at a cunningly wrought pendant that seemed to glow in her palm. The shape of it was difficult to describe, for it appeared as if whoever had fashioned it had taken a single ribbon of the purest white silver and woven it into a glimmering knot. And nestled in the center of the knot, yet clearly seen was a small gemstone of royal blue. The heart of the jewel seemed to glow from within, and Kaylee wondered if it was enchanted somehow. Slowly and carefully she clasped the silver chain around her neck, and the charm nestled perfectly in the hollow of her throat.  
  
As the pendant fell in place, there was a tingle in her neck, not unpleasant, but odd enough to warrant her attention. The world seemed to blur for a moment, and there was a barely distinguishable humming in her ears.  
  
"Weird," she said quietly, fingering the gift absently.  
  
"Beautiful Shkena does not give much information, does she?" Firar muttered to the other man. Kaylee started, mouth falling open. So the lady had been speaking in two tongues simultaneously. Or perhaps in one universal language that all could understand.  
  
"I think it would ruin the quest if she revealed too much," Mychal replied sourly, rising off his knees. He looked at Kaylee with resignation. "Teaching her our language is going to take a long time, Firar."  
  
She tried to keep a confused look upon her face, pretending not to know what they were saying.  
  
The short man grunted. "If she learns as fast as she runs, we will have no trouble at all. At least the beautiful Shkena knew what she was doing when she chose the Scout." He cast Kaylee an up-and-down appraising look. She stiffened, glaring at him. She knew what sort of glance that was, no matter what language she spoke. Firar continued, oblivious, "She is even skinny enough to fit into hard places where you would not be able to, Mychal. Once we find her some modest garments and perhaps a weapon, I think I shall be able to tolerate her."  
  
Kaylee broke her oath of silence. "Only tolerate?" she demanded acidly. "And what, may I ask, is wrong with my clothes? If you think this is bad, let me take you to the mall on a Saturday. We'll see who's immodest!"  
  
She had the great pleasure of watching both of their faces change color, Firar's quite a few different shades.  
  
"You…you understand us?" Mychal asked.  
  
Kaylee crossed her arms. "Perfectly. And now since Skeena, or whatever her name is did not choose to explain anything, perhaps you could be so kind as to enlighten me as to why I am here and why I am a Scout?" She arched an eyebrow at them.  
  
It was Firar who recovered his voice first. "See here, girl—"  
  
"Kaylee," she corrected.  
  
"—you should respect your elders and superiors, for you know not of whom you speak."  
  
"Really," she retorted, releasing some of her pent-up anxiety. "I don't see anybody here that has earned the right to my respect. You broke into my locker, caused my friends to think I was losing it, scared me half to death three times, kidnapped me, tied me up, and you think that I am just going to be automatically respectful to you?" Kaylee paused, chest heaving and face red after her little tirade.  
  
"She sounds like you, Mychal," the short man observed.  
  
Mychal rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That's what I'm afraid of. We have a great amount of explaining to do, Firar. I suggest we get comfortable." He settled himself on a wooden bench near the door.  
  
Kaylee looked around the room for the first time, trying to pinpoint exactly where she could be. All the walls were of gray stone, and there were slitted windows to see out of. No decorations of any sort, just some sparse furniture and some provisions lying about. It was a bit chilly as she sat in the only chair, rubbing her arms as goose bumps prickled on her skin. "All right. First of all, who was that woman?"  
  
"That was the beautiful Shkena, a mighty and powerful lady who controls the fates of many men," Mychal answered, resting his elbows on his knees. "It is she who began this quest."  
  
That caught her off-guard. "Whoa, just—just hang on a minute," she spluttered. "I didn't hear anything about a quest. I'm on a quest? When did that happen?"  
  
Firar made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. "Be silent, child, and let us explain." He stared her down, and Kaylee glared insolently at him.  
  
Mychal continued, ignoring both of them. "We are to go on a journey for the beautiful Shkena. There are great dangers lurking, and a monstrous evil has come to possess something of immeasurable power. We shall travel through the very depths of evil to claim that object, for we have been chosen."  
  
"So let me get this straight. We're going to go off on some wild goose chase to get some mystic object? And probably get ourselves killed along the way? There is no way I am going to do something that stupid. Three people against tons of monsters is crazy!"  
  
"Not three," Firar corrected, not looking too pleased at the light in which she'd viewed their situation. "Seven. Seven chosen ones that each have a gift. You are the Scout. I am the Keeper. Mychal is the Warrior. Do you see?"  
  
"Oh, seven. Excuse me. That makes me feel so much safer," Kaylee responded sarcastically. "So I've been drafted, in other words. Thanks so very much. Now how do I get out of it?"  
  
The two of them exchanged glances. Glances that she didn't like. "You cannot," Mychal said, like it should have been obvious.  
  
"What." It came out softly and dangerously. Kaylee's eyes narrowed to slits. "What?" Her voice was growing louder by degrees, and it climbed a few octaves. "You mean that I can't go home?"  
  
"Er…no. You are essential to this task," the Warrior said, keeping a hand near his sword hilt. Just as a precaution. "Will you not help us? We cannot succeed without you."  
  
Kaylee opened her mouth to say something, a dark flush creeping across her face. Then a feeling within her caused her to pause. She did want to help, as crazy as it sounded. It was an unidentifiable emotion, a pressing willingness. She didn't know where it had come from, and somehow the thought did not bother her.  
  
Mychal and Firar watched as a change came over the Scout's face. Dimly it occurred to them that their quest could not be performed without Kaylee's acceptance. They hardly dared to breathe as she took a deep breath and relaxed.  
  
"All right. I'll go."  
  
[A/N: Again, a sort of long chapter, but I wanted to end here before my dwindling creative juices ran out. As always, I'm begging for reviews! Please please please please!!] 


	6. Caution: Experts At Work

Chapter Six: Caution: Experts At Work  
  
"That's mine."  
  
"No, it isn't."  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You have an unnatural fondness for that word. I—"  
  
"Firar!" Kaylee shouted, standing over the short man, who only came up to her elbow. "That is my backpack you have. And I want it. Now." Her smoldering eyes and icy tone left no room for argument.  
  
The dwarf was not prepared to give up his loot so easily. The girl simply did not understand the rules of Keeping, he consoled himself. She was not challenging him personally. "It was yours. And now it is mine," he stated, unslinging it from his back and poking through the many pockets with interest.  
  
Mychal observed them both detachedly, enjoying the scene too much to interfere. Offhandedly he pulled an apple from his pack and bit into it, watching his friend and the Scout have at each other verbally.  
  
"It is not, and I want it back!" Kaylee said, trying to grab the bag back. But Firar was too swift and he danced out of arms length.  
  
"By thunder, girl! You do not know what you are talking about! I scavenged it, therefore it is mine, and not yours. It was abandoned by you when you ran."  
  
She spoke heatedly. "Yes, when I was running from you. I would have gotten it back if Mychal hadn't chased me through half the school." Kaylee shot the Warrior a sour look. He merely crunched on his apple in contentment, and then smiled insolently at her. She glared as if to say, Men!  
  
"It is as he says, Kaylee. He rightfully claimed your belongings after you left them. As a Keeper, he is allowed to do that," Mychal interjected after swallowing.  
  
"Says who? It wasn't in my book of unwritten laws!" Kaylee replied, making another swipe for her belongings.  
  
"It does not matter," Firar said, fumbling with the odd teeth along the edge and the strange metal tab that was supposed to close them. "Your laws do not apply here."  
  
Kaylee dropped into her chair in resignation. "What do I have to do in order to get my stuff back?" she asked.  
  
Firar's bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd expected her to fight a lot more. He looked at Mychal for suggestions. The man simply shrugged and polished off his snack before tossing away the core. "To start, you can find something better to wear," the dwarf remarked.  
  
The girl peered down at her clothing and spread her arms wide. "What's wrong with this?" she demanded, gesturing at her straight skirt and the jacket she wore over her shirt. "By all standards in my world I'm downright formal!"  
  
The dwarf wrenched his eyes away from the high slits that showed off Kaylee's legs. The amount of skin such garments showed was appalling. "Here you would be considered a…" he looked to Mychal for help.  
  
"A loose woman. Surely you understand the idea," the Warrior filled in.  
  
Kaylee crossed her arms. "Yes, but unless you have some spare clothes lying around, you're not going to be able to do anything about what I wear. What you see is what I've got." Her smug half-smile dared them to refute that.  
  
"No matter, I have just the thing," Firar said, turning to rummage through a sack on the floor. He withdrew a wad of blue fabric and handed it to Kaylee, who took it reluctantly. She unfurled it to reveal a lovely satin gown.  
  
"Somehow, I don't even want to know why you had this," she muttered. "Turn around both of you."  
  
They complied as Kaylee stripped off her jacket and tossed it to the floor. They heard the sound of other garments falling, and the soft rustle of the satin as the Scout slipped into the dress Firar had given her. There were a few grunts before she gave them permission to turn back.  
  
"One of you needs to button the back of this. And good heavens, Firar, who'd you steal this dress from, a size two?"  
  
Mychal's thick fingers clumsily fastened the gown, while Kaylee held her breath so that he could. At last she spun about, looking herself over as she did so. The long sleeves of the gown fit nicely, as did the bodice. But the length was a different story. The Scout took one step and tripped on the hem of the dress.  
  
She sighed. "It might be a nice gown, Firar, but I don't see how I can possibly be a scout and wear this thing at the same time. Can you see me fighting anything in this dress?"  
  
"She does have a point. Female or not, she is the scout, and I suppose if the gown will impede her function as she sees it, she does need something else."  
  
Firar's mouth dropped open, and he flushed red. "But—" he sputtered.  
  
"Would you have our task fail because you would not lay your personal prejudices aside?" Mychal asked pointedly. "Give her some of the clothes you pilfered off those bandits awhile back. Some of them should be small enough to fit her."  
  
The dwarf couldn't seem to get any words around the anger that blocked his throat. Mutedly, he gave up and slunk over to an old barrel in the corner. Prying up the lid, he tossed aside some smelly rags that lay on the top to disguise the contents before rooting in earnest. Kaylee and Mychal watched in amusement as he sorted through various garments, holding them up and shaking his head as he eyed the Scout's small figure.  
  
At last, he tossed her a gray linen shirt, a pair of darkly-stained leggings, and an embroidered vest. Kaylee held them up to examine for herself, and when she decided that there was nothing better to be found, she sighed and donned the clothing quickly as the two of them turned their backs.  
  
The sleeves of the shirt were a little long, but she rolled them up. The leggings fit decently, but the vest she had a bit more trouble with, as the previous owner obviously hadn't known how to tie anything but knots. After many minutes of patient tugging and rethreading, Kaylee felt a bit more comfortable and she could actually move around without falling on her face.  
  
"Does this meet with your approval, Mister Firar?" she demanded, brushing her hair away from her eyes.  
  
The dwarf didn't deign to make a comment.  
  
"Can I have my things back now?"  
  
The bag landed at her feet, and Kaylee immediately opened it, searching through the contents to be sure that nothing was missing. She pulled out a long black case, and opened it. Her eyes saddened, and then narrowed as she glanced back over her shoulder at Firar.  
  
"I don't suppose you know where my flute went, do you Firar?" she asked in a perfectly innocent tone.  
  
"It is mine. I took it with the bag."  
  
Kaylee ground her teeth together. "All right, what do I have to do this time to get it back?"  
  
"Nothing, for I will not give it up. It appears far too valuable to give to the likes of you."  
  
"Excuse me?" Her mouth dropped open.  
  
Mychal was quick to put himself between them. "Peace, you two. You cannot fight like cats and dogs, otherwise we will fail."  
  
"Firar started it!" Kaylee exclaimed, fuming.  
  
The Warrior sighed to himself. It appeared that their Scout had a lot of growing up to do. "You each misunderstand the other. I want an agreement, right now, that you will not fight with each other."  
  
The dwarf glared at his friend. "But—"  
  
Kaylee seemed equally dissatisfied. "But—"  
  
"Right now!"  
  
The two of them glowered at each other. Then:  
  
"Agreed."  
  
"What he said. Ditto."  
  
"Good. Now, as Firar has so graciously supplied you with clothes, Kaylee, I shall give you a weapon," the Warrior continued.  
  
"Me? A weapon?" Her voice rose in surprise. "But I don't know how to fight."  
  
Mychal shook his head. "I will train you, if I must. You will need to know how to defend yourself; I have no doubt of that. By the time we find the others, you shall be a competent swordsman."  
  
"Swordswoman," Kaylee corrected, then made a face. "Sorry. P.C. moment."  
  
"I have no blades that would suit you here, but when we reach Gerinhall I can find something for you. For now, you can borrow Firar's sword."  
  
A strangled sound came from the Keeper's throat. Mychal stared him down until Firar grudgingly handed over his thick two-bladed broadsword. Kaylee tried experimentally to lift it, grunting as she hefted it off the floor.  
  
"This thing is…" CLANG. "…heavy!" she protested, as the sword met with the floor again.  
  
"You must accustom yourself to the weight of it, so you can wield it easily. It may take some time, but we'll build some muscles on those thin bones of yours. Now, get the point up and we'll try blocking."  
  
They worked hard for nigh on two hours, blocking mostly. Kaylee had difficulty swinging Firar's blade, so parrying and other attacking moves were put aside. The dwarf spent much of the time alternately laughing and exclaiming when Kaylee 'accidentally' dropped his precious sword.  
  
By the time they had finished, the sunlight had deepened and faded from the small windows, and all three were hungry. They ate a meal of apples and dried venison (over which Kaylee complained little, for she was so tired) and fell immediately to sleep on the hard floor, with only blankets to cushion them.  
  
  
  
[A/N: So how's my nonexistent audience doing? Got anybody that would give me a review? Hmmmmmm????] 


	7. On The Road

Chapter Seven: On the Road  
  
"Daaaaaaaah!" She was blinded by her hair flying in her face as she sat up.  
  
"Aaaar!" She heard heavy, clomping steps fall back from her position. Firar, she guessed, by the gruff tone of his voice. "Get up, girl! Dawn has already come. We must be on our way."  
  
Kaylee pulled her brown hair out of her eyes and glared at the short man. "First you kick me to wake me up, and then you tell me it's only dawn? Are you crazy?" Her last question was interrupted by an enormous yawn. Her eyes blurred over and she collapsed back onto the blanket she was using for a mattress, pulling another over her head. "Wake me when it's a reasonable hour."  
  
Firar's boot connected with her ribs again, this time a little harder. "I will not ask you again. Mychal has already left to scout out the land."  
  
Kaylee, entertaining some vicious thoughts about what she'd like to do to the diminutive Keeper, rolled out from her warm tangle of blankets, hugging herself in the freezing morning air. She could see her breath swirl in the air as she pulled on her vest, wishing she could wear her jacket. Yet when she looked for it, the Scout found it gone.  
  
"Firar, where are my old clothes?" she asked, fearing the answer.  
  
"I packed them into the barrel, for you cannot wear your strange and immodest garb here. There is a pair of boots and a cloak for you to wear on the chair. Hurry, Mychal waits for us."  
  
She wrapped the thick gray cloak around her, vigorously rubbing her arms to get warm. Kaylee wondered, not for the first time, how her world was treating her disappearance. She supposed that, from the weapons Mychal and Firar possessed, and the manner of supplies that they had, that she was in some sort of medieval society. The portal had not only taken her to a different world, but a different time. The thought was surreal and unnerving.  
  
As she pulled on the worn hide boots Firar had given her, she mulled over why she had agreed in the first place. And she could only come up with the same answer as before. Something inside her simply wanted to.  
  
The Keeper wordlessly handed Kaylee a loaded pack, complete with a bedroll. Her belongings were inside, along with other supplies. She did not question his actions; obviously her brightly-colored book bag would be out of place here. She snatched two apples from a sack for breakfast, then passed out of the small stone dwelling through the only door.  
  
She watched as Firar exited behind her, then locked the door. "Wait, you're just going to leave everything in there? When are we coming back?"  
  
The short man shrugged. "Probably never. But if I ever happen to pass this way again, at least I'll know it's there."  
  
Maybe it was still too early, but Kaylee didn't follow. "I don't understand."  
  
"You don't understand a lot. Let me make it simple: I am a Keeper. Keepers collect things, sell things, steal things, and just about everything in between. We make profits this way, and also strongholds of supplies. The really good Keepers can even find other Keepers' stores and raid them. Do you follow?"  
  
Kaylee nodded sagely. "I see. It's like a game."  
  
Firar bristled as he lit a lantern, the candle flickering in the slight breeze. "It is not a game. It is a craft, a skilled practice. Every Keeper always has tricks up his sleeves, so be wary. Do you know that in the time it took you to wake up fully, I could have captured you, tied you up, and killed you four different ways? That is what it means to be a Keeper. It is not something for children such as you."  
  
"Yeah, and there's another matter we need to address. I am most certainly not a child, and you shouldn't treat me as one. And my name is Kaylee, not 'girl'. How would you like it if I went around calling you 'midget' or 'shorty'?"  
  
Firar turned on her, his lantern casting an eerie shadow across his face. His black beard seemed to stand out in anger. "I am not a midget! I am a Dwarf, and you'd do well to remember that!" he spat in indignation.  
  
Kaylee involuntarily skipped a step and tripped on a rock. "A Dwarf? As in you live in a mountain and mine for gold and jewels?" A wave of excitement and disbelief coursed through her. A fairy tale come true? Had they actually had some real truth in them?  
  
The dwarf seemed to calm himself a little. "Most of my people work in the mountains, that's true. But a Keeper can only do so much with metals and gems. I chose to leave and see the world, as it be. And I have never gone back."  
  
"Are there things like fairies and elves here too? Or centaurs?" Kaylee could hardly believe it. Unrealistic or not, though, she was right in the middle. She had to believe it.  
  
"What? I have never heard of such strange things. Truth be told, I do not know of the evil the beautiful Shkena told us of. The biggest threat is the occasional bandit. I suppose we will see when we are all gathered," the dwarf mused.  
  
"How long will that take? And who are these other people?"  
  
They crested the hill they had been climbing, and started down into a little valley. The cottage they had stayed in was already lost in the shadows behind them. A deep forest sprang up to their left, and Kaylee followed the Keeper as he guided them beneath the edge of the dark boughs. She shivered involuntarily and pulled her cloak tighter around her.  
  
"I do not know who they are, but I know what they will be. One will be the Guide, another the Peacekeeper, another the Leader, and another one the Healer."  
  
"Is there some sort of significance with the titles?"  
  
"Yes, but what exactly it is I do not know. It is as if the number and duties of the people were previously established, and we are just one of the groups of people to fill them."  
  
Kaylee was about to formulate a reply when a slight rustle of leaves that was too sudden and violent to be a wind caught her attention. "Shh!" she whispered, pausing. "There is someone in the tree ahead of us."  
  
As if on cue, a black shape slithered down the trunk and moved to bar their path. Firar muttered an oath and made a move as if to pull his sword.  
  
"Peace, Firar. It's only Mychal. After all this time traveling together, you still fail to recognize me in the dark?" The Warrior's voice was light with laughter. "I am surprised to still find you both in one piece. I thought for sure you would have chopped each other up by now."  
  
Kaylee and Firar exchanged stony glances and then both glared at Mychal.  
  
"Or not," he added hastily, taking a step back.  
  
"Do you think I would not keep my word to you, my friend?" Firar questioned in his rumbling voice.  
  
"There have been times," Mychal responded truthfully.  
  
Firar growled.  
  
"Knock it off. I made a promise that I would not fight with Firar, and I intend to keep it. Unless he starts it. Then I have to finish it," Kaylee stated firmly.  
  
"The beautiful Shkena chose a skilled Scout, but a very foolish young one. You must learn to choose your battles carefully," Mychal advised, "otherwise you may end up injured. Or dead, and we do not want that to happen. But you did hear me when I moved to descend, and that is admirable. You'll earn your share yet."  
  
Kaylee rolled her eyes and sighed shortly before stepping around both of them and moving off down the faint path. She felt like she was being insulted at every turn. Those two didn't realize how utterly alone and helpless she felt being trapped in this world without her family or friends, or even knowledge of anything! How long would she have to remain? What if she never went back? She did not want to give in to the tide of uncertainty and questions that would only leave her feeling helpless and even more lost than before, but she could not help it. Tears began to slip down her face, but she kept her back to Mychal and Firar and walked on.  
  
The sun had just cleared the horizon and the first amber rays touched the high treetops. The day would be bright and clear, it looked. Kaylee was glad, because she did not need rain on top of her problems. To try and divert her mind, she bit into one of the apples she had brought for breakfast and tried to see how many bites she could take around the outside before going all the way around. When her apple was gone, the Scout began to hum songs to herself, almost wishing for her flute. But she had no music to play, so that was pointless. At one point she caught herself singing aloud,  
  
"I'm so tired, but I can't sleep  
  
Standing on the edge of something much too deep.  
  
It's funny how we feel so much but we cannot say a word  
  
We are screaming inside but we can't be heard  
  
I will remember you  
  
Will you remember me  
  
Don't let your life pass you by  
  
Weep not for the memories…"  
  
Kaylee stopped as soon as she realized what she was doing. It was a song Lyra had taught her. They had been trying to decide whether or not they were going to sing it together for graduation. It had seemed like such a long time ago that she had been sitting in chemistry class, falling asleep to Mr. Curtis' dronings about thermodynamics. Would she ever get back?  
  
[A/N: I do not own the lyrics printed above, I merely borrowed them. They are full property of Solas and Shanachie Entertainment Corporation. Please do not sue me. Because all you would get is a lot of stuffed animals. Thank you.] 


	8. The Inevitable

Chapter Eight: The Inevitable  
  
"Are we there yet?"  
  
"Stars, girl! Do you never stop asking that foul question?" Firar yelled, beard bristling. He looked truly fearsome, but Kaylee was not in the mood to be scared.  
  
"You said it was only ten miles to the next town! It should only have taken us an hour to get there," she complained.  
  
"I said nothing. It was Mychal who estimated ten leagues. I have never heard of a 'mile'. It must be something of your world." Firar raised his chin disdainfully. He made no secret of the fact that he considered her to be alien, whether her presence be necessary or not.  
  
"Look, I have read a few fantasy novels, and a league seems close enough to a mile for me," Kaylee retorted hotly. Apparently she did not care for him much either. "In a car it would only take twenty minutes!"  
  
The mute glances she received were enough to shut her up for the moment.  
  
The Keeper sighed into the relative silence. The forest was thinning to their left as they kept their bearing south. The sun had climbed high in the sky, and was now beating down relentlessly on the threesome's heads. Mychal and Kaylee had shed their cloaks, and even Firar was contemplating removing his over-tunic. Sweat stood out on the Scout's face, but she said nothing and wiped it away with her sleeve. At least she realized that whining would get her nowhere, the dwarf grudgingly admitted.  
  
The path stretched ever onward across the hilly land, and not the slightest breeze rustled through the grass. Firar kept his mind occupied by mentally assessing the net worth of all their supplies, and then trying to remember where he'd left the stores he'd compiled in Gerinhall. Also the opposition he could face. There was Guisto, a pompous idiot who spent too much time in taverns, and maybe Savan, but it was doubtful that he'd be in town.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted when Kaylee's pack landed on his foot. She had some hard objects in there, even if he could not understand them. Firar snarled low in his throat, but restrained himself admirably.  
  
"Where are you going?" Mychal called after the girl as she moved away at a light run.  
  
"Just a minute. Stay there and be quiet," she ordered, disappearing over the next hill.  
  
Dwarf and man looked at each other, then followed carefully. Though Kaylee was the Scout, that did not mean she was fully prepared to face everything that meant. Not that either of them actually knew precisely what was required, but they had a better idea.  
  
They crested the rise, only to find that Kaylee was not in sight. She was fast when she wanted to be.  
  
"Do you think she is in the forest?" Firar asked without much conviction.  
  
"No, the trees are too thin. We would have seen her immediately. She must be over the next rise," the Warrior replied, narrowing his dark eyes. He moved as if to continue, but just then Kaylee reappeared, her face puzzled.  
  
"What did you find?" Mychal demanded.  
  
The Scout shouldered her pack before replying. "Nothing. But I definitely felt something, I just don't know what."  
  
"I think you are jumping at shadows," the Keeper snorted. He was surprised when the girl did not try to come up with a biting response. He brushed away a momentary strand of doubt that perhaps she really had reason to worry, instead wanting to continue on to Gerinhall as soon as possible.  
  
"Leave her be, Firar. She is only trying to help," his friend admonished.  
  
"Help us directly into an ambush, more likely," the dwarf muttered under his breath. "Shall we press on?" he asked impatiently, setting the pace.  
  
As they approached the place where Kaylee had evidently tried to pinpoint her elusive feeling, Mychal stopped suddenly. He studied the grass intently, pacing off where it had been trampled in a neat circular pattern. "You did find something, Kaylee," he said at last. "There was a group of wagoneers camped here, I'd say last night. It appears as if there was some sort of fight, however." The Warrior fell silent, obviously bothered by something.  
  
Firar surveyed the site, formulating his own ideas. "If there was a fight, why are there no bodies?"  
  
"Maybe the wagoneers tied them up to take with them and put in jail," Kaylee suggested.  
  
Both man and dwarf shook their heads in unison. "Justice on unguarded roads is swift. Especially to bandits. They would have been killed immediately."  
  
The Scout's green eyes widened. "But why? Shouldn't they be tried in court? Or at least given a chance to make up for their crimes?"  
  
Firar snorted. "What court? And why would the wagoneers bother taking bandits with them? It only lowers productivity costs to have extra baggage in the carts."  
  
Kaylee's face grew hard and angry as she clenched her jaw. "Is that all you can think of, money and profits? You make me sick, Firar. Does life mean so little to you that you dismiss it in terms of numbers and figures?" She speared him with a contemptuous look, before moving a good distance away, obviously not wishing to speak with the Keeper any longer.  
  
Firar shrugged, trying not to let her words prick his conscience. But he could not simply dismiss what she had said as trivial. Was he truly so calloused? The dwarf did not think himself to be that way, but had he been hiding the facts from himself?  
  
"Firar, my friend."  
  
Mychal's voice jarred him from his thoughts, and he turned to the Warrior. "Let us continue. Kaylee is correct, something does chill one's blood in this place."  
  
The trail was clearer now, as the wagon tracks marked the way to Gerinhall. Noon had come and gone, but the trio had not stopped to eat, preferring to chew on strips of dried meat as they walked and passing around a waterskin. When the sun began to set, a cooling breeze wafted across the hills, stirring the darkening grass that was now all around them.  
  
The fiery orb that was the sun seemed to balance on the horizon to their right, its bloody rays fading quickly across the landscape. Firar lit his lantern, instinctively loosening his mace where it hung from his belt. Darker things always seemed to happen at night, and it did not help that they were at least half a league from their destination. Talking was at its minimum, and the blackness seemed to close in all around them. Kaylee especially seemed to draw nearer to the only source of light.  
  
"Let us stop."  
  
The announcement from Mychal's lips caused the dwarf to stumble mid-stride and Kaylee to trip over him. Both ended up in a heap, the Scout mostly on top.  
  
"Ooomph. Geroff me!" the Keeper bellowed as Kaylee complied hastily, dusting herself off.  
  
"Why do you want to stop?" she asked in confusion. "We must be nearly there by now."  
  
"The night draws on, and we are all weary. The gates of Gerinhall have already been closed for the evening, and I do not feel up to challenging the guards' authority." The man was already rolling out his blanket beneath the gleaming stars.  
  
Firar agreed with Mychal's logic, and laid his belongings carefully on the ground before settling down. Even a long day of traveling would make a strong dwarf tired.  
  
They eschewed the making of a fire, more due to the effort than anything else. Spring was just starting to melt into summer, and the nights were passably warm.  
  
The Keeper pulled off the more uncomfortable pieces of armor and lay looking up at the velvety black sky. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kaylee's silhouette outlined against the stars.  
  
She spoke. "This is more beautiful than anything my world has." Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and the dwarf wondered if the girl was going to cry. He himself did not see anything special about the smattering of stars and the colorful ribbons of spatial gases illuminated by the reflection of the sun, reaching like wispy arms across the endless dark.  
  
Somewhere to his left he heard Mychal sigh deeply. "I suppose there is much we often take for granted. Coming from another realm must make all this new to you."  
  
Kaylee's reply sounded muffled. "Don't remind me." A prolonged rustling in the grass told Firar that she had rolled out her blankets.  
  
The dwarf rolled over, trying to find sleep, but for some reason he felt uneasy. At last when dreams came, they were filled with ghostly shapes that seemed to disappear before his very eyes, and the sound of the Scout's voice saying that she sensed something. But when he awoke to Kaylee's screams, he remembered none of it.  
  
[A/N: Yay! I've got one reviewer! Thank you Tigerlily, you're awesome! (Hey, I'm taking this all in stride) Kind of a cliffhanger, I know, but I just felt like having one. If you're new, please review! (and I'm NOT thinking of becoming a poet anytime soon, don't worry) ( ] 


	9. Fading Fast

Chapter Nine: Fading Fast  
  
Mychal had been in a dead sleep when Kaylee's cry aroused him. He reacted with honed instincts, rolling to his feet and drawing his sword in one fluid movement. His dark eyes cast about for any sort of danger, but he saw nothing.  
  
Firar was just rolling over, his beard a tangled black mess. His eyes were wild, and he was groping for his own weapon. The dwarf kicked his blankets aside, getting to his feet. "What is it, girl?"  
  
Kaylee stood frozen before the two of them, her eyes wide and mouth open. Her jaw worked with silent screams, and every inch of her body trembled violently.  
  
The Warrior took a cautious step forward. "Kaylee? Are you all right?"  
  
Her face contorted as he moved towards her, a silent plea for him to go back, not to come any closer. But Mychal did not heed the warning. Sword still gripped in his right hand, he advanced carefully.  
  
A sudden coldness seemed to clamp itself around him, freezing the man where he stood. It seeped into his skin, right to his bones. He began to shiver, just as Kaylee had done. The Scout had dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  
  
Mychal knew not what this evil was; he had never encountered anything like it. He stood immobile, unable to bat an eye. He had no control over his body, and he didn't know who did.  
  
Somewhere distantly, he heard Firar bellowing questions at Kaylee, who was trying to drag herself shakily to her feet. She seemed to have been sapped of all strength, and to Mychal's shock, he found that he was also.  
  
"Can't you see them?" the girl demanded of the dwarf. "They're like ghosts, all around us! One of them got me, and now it has Mychal. What are they?" her voice was bordering on hysterical.  
  
The dwarf's eyes widened and he muttered a prayer, sheathing his two-edged blade. "Fades!" He dug frantically through a pocket, coming out with flint and a wad of tinder. "Find me some wood, quickly!"  
  
Kaylee struggled to move fast, but there was literally no branches or twigs to be found anywhere in the endless grassland. In desperation she tore into her bag, coming up with some type of parchment.  
  
Mychal saw all of this through a haze, his vision beginning to dim. The cold was invading his brain, trying to get him to stop thinking. He had to fight it! He couldn't give in, not now. Not when their quest had only begun!  
  
The Keeper managed to light Kaylee's parchment successfully, and stood holding it as a torch. He took a deep breath, eyeing his friend reluctantly. Then Firar charged at Mychal, waving the burning paper directly in front of the man's face.  
  
The coldness inside the Warrior seemed to shrink back, but it did not leave.  
  
"Forgive me my friend, for what I must do," Firar said, before shoving the flaming roll of parchment directly onto the exposed flesh of Mychal's chest.  
  
A horrid shriek resounded through Mychal's head, and the coldness flared and left him as suddenly as it had taken him. His sword dropped to the ground, forgotten, as the Warrior staggered, beating madly at the fiery burn on his skin. His reserves of strength were gone, and he crumpled to the ground, lacking the power to stay conscious. In a final effort, he formed the words, "Forgive…you."  
  
Darkness claimed him.  
  
  
  
Firar stared at his companion's still form, before reacting with typical dwarf instincts. "Back, foul demons! I may not be able to see you, but this is one dwarf and maiden you shall not have easily." He spun in a circle, brandishing the quickly-burning parchment Kaylee had given him at the unseen foes.  
  
Fades were unseen creatures, only visible by moonlight. How the Scout could see them he did not know. They sometimes haunted the tunnels and caves of his brethren in the mountains, taking unsuspecting miners as they worked alone. Fades stole strength and energy to keep themselves alive. If given the chance, they would drain a being right down to their very life force. It was lucky for Mychal that Firar knew how to deal with one. Fades hated fire and heat, for it was the opposite of what they were.  
  
Somewhere to his left, Kaylee was crouched, having pulled some of the long blades of surrounding grass and twisting them into her own style of torch. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, and her face was unnaturally pale. Mychal had distracted the Fade within her before it had taken her completely.  
  
"They have gone," she whispered, stamping out her makeshift weapon. She smiled slightly. "The sight of my burning chemistry notes must have scared them off."  
  
Firar wheeled on her, dropping the spent parchment before it burned his hand. "How can you see them?"  
  
The girl shook her head, having no strength for an explanation. "I don't know. Maybe because I'm not from your world. Or because I'm the Scout. I just don't know." Her gaze fell to the Warrior. "Do you have something I can put on his burn?"  
  
The dwarf turned wordlessly to rummage through a pack, pulling out some thick, long twigs. He took a knife and began skinning off the light bark before popping it into his mouth and chewing. The Scout watched silently as he applied the moistened bark to the blistering patch of skin on Mychal's chest.  
  
"Will he be all right?"  
  
"Get me some bandages from my bag. I do not know. The Fade possessed him for a long time. We must get to Gerinhall as soon as possible. There is a healer who can help him." Firar's sentences were short and to the point. He was worried; he had never expected his friend to fall like this. How had Mychal not known about Fades?  
  
Because he'd never told him. No Fades had ever been reported this side of the mountain. What had happened to drive them out to these plains? A greater evil than they? The thought was unsettling.  
  
Kaylee silently handed him the clean strips of cloth he'd asked for, and helped the dwarf to remove the Warrior's heavy overtunic and lighter undershirt. Swiftly Firar bound the burn, but Mychal did not even stir.  
  
"How are we going to get him to Gerinhall if he does not wake up?" Weariness was heavy in the Scout's voice, but her eyes showed that she was determined. She would not see Mychal die for her.  
  
"I shall carry him," the dwarf announced bluntly. "And you shall carry the supplies." He waited for the argument that was sure to come, for he knew that she had little strength. But the Scout shouldered all the packs and waterskins without complaint, though the burden was heavy. She knew that Mychal needed healing, as quick as was humanly possible.  
  
Firar slung the Warrior's inert body over his shoulder, careful not to put any pressure on the man's injury. Mychal's arms and legs nearly dragged on the ground, the dwarf was so short, but it could not be helped. Had there been trees he would have made a travois, but the forest had ended a good league or so back.  
  
Travel was quiet, and painful. Firar kept a careful eye on the Scout, watching her wavering steps as she pressed doggedly on. Mychal seemed to grow heavier with each stride, but he knew they couldn't stop.  
  
"Less than half a league," he panted to Kaylee at one point, and she only responded with a forced smile. At one point one her knees gave out, but she scrabbled back to her feet as fast as she could, unwilling to give up.  
  
"Do you want to stop and rest?" Firar at last asked, knowing that they shouldn't, but also knowing that the girl could not last much longer.  
  
"I can't. I won't be able to start again. We'll get there. Just like the Little Engine That Could." Kaylee shot him a tired grin.  
  
The dwarf did not understand. "Explain yourself," he said gruffly, trying to keep both their minds off their painful circumstances.  
  
"Well see, it's about this train, sort of like a cart but without horses and it runs on tracks, that offers to try and take all these toys and food to these children that live over a mountain. But she's a small engine, and has a lot of trouble, right? So she chants to herself, over and over, even as her wheels are grinding and she's straining with all her might, 'I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.' And she did it. She got over the mountain and made all the little kids happy." Kaylee paused. "And I'm going to do it. I think I can."  
  
With those words, the two of them topped a final hill. The grassy ground sloped gently down and away from them, into a small, lush valley. And in the valley was nestled a village, Gerinhall.  
  
There was silence for the whole of two heartbeats.  
  
"Yes! Yes!" Firar shouted, raising one fist in the air.  
  
"Yahoo! I thought I could, I thought I could! We did it!" Kaylee whooped joyously.  
  
Their feet found a dirt path, and they made their best possible speed to the village, their spirits lifting with each distant farm they passed. The gates loomed ever closer, and Kaylee rejoiced to see the tired, bored guards standing there. The soldiers gave them the barest of glances as they entered the settlement.  
  
"Follow me," Firar ordered, ducking swiftly through the crowd, ignoring all looks in his direction. He knew exactly where to go, and in no time was standing outside a small house on the corner of the main road. He rapped three times, tapping a foot impatiently.  
  
Finally, much to the Keeper's relief, the door swung open all of two inches and a gravelly voice demanded, "What's your business?"  
  
"I bring a wounded man for healing," the dwarf said. "It is of utmost importance."  
  
"Do you have payment?"  
  
"Yes, in silver. Please, as quickly as possible," Firar said.  
  
The door was flung wide, and an aging man stood before them, his silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Firar?" he asked, startled. "What are you doing here? If Savan were to find out…"  
  
The Keeper barreled his way past his old acquaintance, laying Mychal on a bed in the next room. "Do not tell me that he still has a price on my head from the cattle incident. I thought we had that reconciled years ago."  
  
"Apparently he has not forgotten, nor forgiven," the broad-chested host said, casting a professional eye over Mychal. "What happened to him?" He turned as Kaylee limped though the door, white as a ghost. "And who are you?"  
  
She started at the question. "I'm with Firar."  
  
"Before you say anything, old friend—"  
  
"Too late," the healer guffawed as he stripped away the bandages on Mychal's chest. "I never thought I'd see you gallivanting about with a maiden. She's a bit tall for you, isn't she?" He examined the burn before rummaging through a nearby cupboard.  
  
The dwarf ground his teeth, even as he helped Kaylee arrange their provisions in a stack near the door. He paid no more attention to the Scout as she curled up in a corner, wrapping her arms around her knees and falling to sleep. "She is merely a companion on the journey. We were attacked by Fades."  
  
His friend's eyes rolled toward him, wide in shock. "Then they do exist? When were you set upon? Only yesterday a team of wagoneers came, claiming they had been attacked by unseen foes. A couple even perished, and others will take weeks to recover. They said the creatures were less than a league from here."  
  
So that was why there had been no bodies or blood spilled at the campsite. The dwarf settled into a chair as the healer spread a healing salve over the wound. "We were attacked only this morning. Kaylee was the first to be taken, but the Fade left her when Mychal tried to save her, possessing him instead. I had to drive the demon out using fire."  
  
"You must stay here until your companion regains strength. My wife should be back from market soon, and I'll have her make some broth for him." He turned to Kaylee, who was silent and unmoving. "Kaylee? A strange name, to be sure." The girl did not stir, did not react to his voice.  
  
The older man looked worriedly at Firar, kneeling before the Scout and gently brushing aside her hair to reveal her pale features. "How long was she within the Fade's grasp? She is cold to the touch, and her heart falters within her. How long?"  
  
The Keeper had to admit that he did not know. "Both of us awoke and she was already taken."  
  
"And she came all that way bearing your belongings?" The healer's rough voice rose in pitch. "Have you gone daft? You, of all people, know what Fades do. Right now she does not have the strength to keep herself alive. I do not know what I can do for her. Had she not exerted herself so, she might have recovered. But now," he shook his head, "I fear there is nobody who can help her. Even Mychal has a slim chance for life. I am sorry, Firar."  
  
The dwarf did not know what to think. Surely, surely it could not be over this quickly. Was one swift, unseen attack enough to do them in? There had to be some way of saving them. His hope faded as surely as his companions' lives did.  
  
  
  
[A/N: I guess you'd call this another cliffhanger, except for the fact that you know we haven't met up with the others yet, so of course it can't be the end. Prophecies sort of ruin cliffhangers, don't they? Oh yes, and this chapter is dedicated to Tigerlily, because she is my first reviewer, and *maybe* future partner, and just all-around awesome! ( ] 


	10. Cheater

Chapter Ten: Cheater  
  
"You didn't have to make the Fades attack them, you know. You could have caused a tree to fall on them when they were walking near the forest or something like that."  
  
"Ah yes, but you see if I had done that, then the dwarf wouldn't think it was his fault that his friend and the Scout are dying. He needs to learn the effects of his secrets and prejudices."  
  
"I see. Is that why you meddled when the Fades attacked?" Austus leaned back in his chair, idly eating grapes while studying a large map with various pieces spread about.  
  
Shkena placed a hand to her heart. "I? I meddle?" She shot her husband a sultry smile.  
  
"Yes, you. You know perfectly well that they wouldn't have been able to resist taking all three of them at once, especially the dwarf, because they have an affinity for the little trolls," Austus said sourly. He had wanted to use the Fades to scare a particularly stubborn band of explorers away from a treasure hoard. "If you were going to dabble with them, why didn't you keep the Fades away from that bunch of travelers the night before?"  
  
She shrugged her slim shoulders. "They are not as easy to control as you think. Ravenous creatures, very dangerous when handled improperly. And we are not all-powerful, you know."  
  
Austus took a sip from a goblet before bending back over the map. "Too true. He didn't trust us that much. So you've effectively killed the Warrior and Scout, and death is something we cannot interfere with. What do you propose to do?" He looked at Shkena's knowing face. She was daring him to guess. Suddenly it dawned upon him. "Unless you remove them all from the sphere of that realm and send them…"  
  
She swooped down and grabbed three silver figures from off the board and set them on a completely different world. "Precisely."  
  
  
  
His keen ears picked up the sound of sobbing. A heart-rending sound seldom heard anywhere on these shores. His light step quickened as he darted through the misty trees, seeking the source of the crying. He stopped suddenly, as a hunched figure came into view. What sort of creature was it? The elf had never seen anything so short and compact.  
  
The being was kneeling over a prone body, uttering words in a tongue he did not understand. As he drew nearer, he saw a third person also stretched out upon the ground, a crude bandage upon his chest.  
  
"Halt! Who are you and why do you enter the land of Medeba?"  
  
The short stranger shot to his feet, hand going to a primitive form of weapon. It answered back in its strange tongue, trying to keep him away from the two beings.  
  
He spread his hands, for he had no weapons. "I will not harm you. That is not our way. But I will help you."  
  
The creature faltered, the knowledge that it could do nothing clearly written on its face. After a moment's hesitation, it put its blade away.  
  
The elf, Nadoram, drew near, setting his hand to the brow of the youngest being, whose race was not in kinship with the short creature. He drew back from the coldness, as much as from the fading light within. "She dies," he said simply, understanding death, but not its means. His kind did not perish as these so obviously did. It was the same for the other person, whom Nadoram discerned to be of the same people as the female.  
  
The short one looked at him with agony in its eyes, and then said something that the elf did not understand.  
  
Nadoram set two fingers to his lips and whistled long and low. Three fellow elves materialized from amidst the swirling fog. They did not ask any questions, for they had seen and heard all for themselves.  
  
"Let us take them to Lady Avilah. She will know what they are. Be wary of the small one, for I fear he may give us trouble," Nadoram cautioned. Carefully he gathered the female into his arms, noting how heavy she was when compared to elves. The weight was not unbearable, however, and when everything had been gathered up, the elves set out through the wood.  
  
The short being, who had made little protest over the elves, seemed to be beyond despair as it carried the injured male over its shoulder, showing remarkable strength.  
  
Nadoram knew they were approaching the heart of the misty forest when the trees began to grow bigger and thicker around. He stopped at the base of one and let out a trilling call. Immediately, a wooden lift was lowered on strong vines. The elf beckoned the short one to come with him, and swiftly the two of them and their burdens were hoisted into the treetops.  
  
The small creature cried out something as the ground dropped away, unconsciously backing to the center of the gently rocking platform. Nadoram tried to reassure it, to no avail.  
  
When at last they came to a halt, Nadoram called to several of his kinsmen. "These three were found in the wood. The short one does not speak our language, and the other two need healing. I know not where they came from, but I would speak with Lady Avilah to discern her wisdom on this matter."  
  
"We will take the wounded ones to quarters and fetch a healer for them," a group of four offered, moving to take the limp form from Nadoram.  
  
"And I shall bring you and the small one to Lady Avilah," another, one of the Lady's handmaidens, said.  
  
Nadoram cut short his reply as he moved to restrain the short creature, who looked like he was about to fight the other elves over his companions. He looked intently into its eyes, speaking slowly. "They will be all right. Trust me. Come, we go to see Lady Avilah, who can help you." The small one made a growling noise low in its throat, but followed the elf anyway.  
  
  
  
She opened her eyes, and they immediately focused upon the blue star with an orange center that she'd stuck to her ceiling so long ago. Kaylee sat up, pushing her heavy comforter aside. Her feet struck the floor, and she instantly tripped over a pair of sandals she'd left there. She rubbed her bleary eyes, a wild grin growing on her face. It had all been a dream! Mychal, Firar, all of it! She was home, and she was safe.  
  
"Mom?" Kaylee called, entering the hallway outside her bedroom. She heard pans clattering in the kitchen downstairs, and she grabbed her pink and white blanket from her bed, wrapping it around her shoulders. Her bare feet padded noisily on the stairs as she descended. The smell of waffles nearly made her faint as she ran to the kitchen.  
  
Kaylee's mother stood with her back turned, busily stirring the batter before pouring it on the griddle. "Good morning, Kaylee. Did you sleep well?"  
  
She gave her mom a hug from behind, inhaling the heavenly scent of the fresh waffles. "Yup! You wouldn't believe the dream I had…"  
  
Her mother put two waffles on a plate, before turning around to hand them to her daughter. "Why don't you sit down and tell me all about it?"  
  
Kaylee accepted the breakfast, but the dish shattered as it slipped from nerveless fingers. Icy terror gripped her heart, and her eyes widened. She stumbled back a step, her blanket falling from around her.  
  
"Kaylee?" asked the thing that looked like her mother. But no human had a face like that. It was a mottled shade of green, with yellowed teeth and empty sockets where the eyes should have been. Its nose was a malformed nub of flesh with only one nostril. "Kaylee, are you all right?"  
  
She turned to run, but a vise-like hand grabbed her shoulder, squeezing tightly. Kaylee was screaming in fear. This couldn't be happening… Two worlds had collided. Where was she? What was real?  
  
"No! Let me go! Noooooooo…"  
  
Kaylee's eyes snapped open mid-shriek. A pair of intense gray eyes bored into hers, and she renewed her struggles. The man was holding her down by one shoulder, his other hand drawn back as if to strike. "Who are you? What do you want?" she asked, calming marginally as she realized that she had little strength with which to fight him.  
  
"You speak our tongue? But your companions do not," he replied in fascination.  
  
The necklace Shkena had given her grew warm against her neck. "You didn't answer my questions. Who are you?" Kaylee's heart raced as she took in her strange surroundings. She was in an open room that seemed to be some sort of tree house. The graceful columns were leafy boughs that intertwined to form a dense dome above her, and a warm night breeze blew, but the pale lights that illuminated the room did not flicker.  
  
"You have nothing to be frightened of, little one. My name is Araphel, and I am a healer." He moved away, pouring something from a pitcher into a carved cup and handing it to her and settling in a nearby chair. "You were lucky the small one brought you here, or you might have died. Elves are good healers, but even you and your companion gave us a challenge. Yet—"  
  
Kaylee accepted the drink suspiciously, sitting up slowly. Then she bolted upright in a flash, interrupting and causing Araphel to sit back in surprise. "What did you say?"  
  
Araphel opened his mouth in order to repeat himself but Kaylee didn't give him the opportunity.  
  
"Elves? Good heavens, elves exist too?" Kaylee leaned forward, and the healer gave her an odd glance before turning his head. Pointed ears! Just like in the storybooks she'd read so long ago as a child. But Firar and Mychal had said that they'd never heard of elves before…  
  
"Why would we not exist? It is you that is a mystery to us. What sort of race are you, that you are so heavy and clumsy? Though you resemble elves in many respects, you do not possess the immortal aura, nor the grace and agility of us."  
  
Kaylee was now even more confused than before. "Hold it a minute! Let's go back to the beginning. You are Araphel, a healer who happens to be an elf. Right?"  
  
Araphel nodded once, eyeing his patient like she had lost her mind.  
  
"Firar and Mychal said they did not know what elves were. And that they didn't understand your language. Right." Kaylee spoke rapidly, more to herself than to the elf seated near her bed. "So we must be on another world, and I bet it is all Shkena's doing. Figures," the girl muttered darkly.  
  
"So now you should answer my questions, little one. What sort of being are you?" Araphel raised a dark eyebrow at her. "And what is your name, so that I shall not be forced to call you 'little one' while you remain here to finish regaining your strength?"  
  
Kaylee studied the elf, remembering all she had heard in her world of their nobility and goodness. Surely it would be all right to trust them. "My name is Kaylee, and I'm a human. And elves do not exist in my world."  
  
Both the healer's eyebrows shot up at that statement. "In your world? There is no other world besides this one. I do not understand."  
  
She could have laughed aloud at the perplexing look on the elf's fair face. "You'd be surprised," she muttered, absently sipping the drink he'd given her. The first mouthful spread like the warming glow of a fire through her body, and Kaylee nearly choked on the next sip. "What is this? Tastes like some kind of tea."  
  
Araphel, still puzzled, replied, "It is alesae, an elvish brew that gives warmth and strength." After a moment's pause, he asked, "How can there be other worlds beside our own? There is no proof, nothing to say that there is. The very thought is unfathomable."  
  
The girl shrugged. "No it isn't. Look, I'll show you." Kaylee threw back the light blanket, revealing a plain gown, and attempted to rise, but her legs wouldn't obey her. A great weariness settled upon her, and Araphel rose.  
  
"You do not have strength yet to get up. Simply tell me what you mean," the elf said, gray eyes filled with concern.  
  
"No. I want to show you," Kaylee insisted. She did not like feeling so helpless. To not be able to move of her own free will was frustrating and unsettling.  
  
Araphel eyed her for a moment, then approached and carefully lifted Kaylee into his arms. "You must promise me that you will take some rest after this. I would not have you endanger yourself merely to prove a point."  
  
"Promise." Kaylee crossed her heart with one hand. "Is there a place where we can see the stars?"  
  
"Yes, but it is a little far from here. Are you sure you wish to go?"  
  
She nodded emphatically. "There are some things that need visual explanations." Kaylee didn't tell the elf that she also wanted to know more about where she was, and if she could find Firar and Mychal in the process, she'd be that much closer to getting out of here. Araphel seemed nice enough, but stories were still fictional. Despite her earlier thoughts, a small seed of doubt began to grow. The elf carried her from the open bedroom, onto a staircase of interwoven limbs that led upwards. The trees were a silvery-green in the opalescent light emanating from some flower-like growths on their trunks. Kaylee glanced down, just to see how high they were. The thick trunks were lost in a gray mist, but even the height that she could see caused her to tighten her arms around Araphel's neck.  
  
The healer spared her a concerned glance, but he was sure-footed and swift. The staircase led to another platform, this one completely enclosed, almost like some kind of meeting hall. Araphel did not pause, merely continued through and on to another set of steps. It appeared to her as if the entire city or settlement or whatever the elves might call this place was entirely in the treetops, made of an intricate network of elegant tree houses and pathways. Kaylee had been sure that she had seen enough strange things to last her for the rest of her life, but Shkena or whoever was doing this seemed to have an odd sense of humor.  
  
"We are here," Araphel interrupted her thoughts softly, his focus already on the clear sky that glittered with a million stars. They were on an open platform, where there were many carved benches and chairs arranged, as if the spot was specifically meant for stargazers alone.  
  
"It's beautiful," she breathed, eyes alight with awe. The elf set her on a bench, then stood simply gazing at the sky. It was one of those moments you learn to treasure, where time has not spoiled anything yet with the evolution of society. Peace and serenity were unequaled, and countless minutes, perhaps hours even, passed as the heavens worked their subtle magic on the two tiny beings so far below.  
  
"Do you see that blue star there?" Araphel sat beside Kaylee and pointed. "That is Shteroth. It rises and falls swifter than the other stars."  
  
Kaylee mentally pulled herself back to the present. "You asked how there could be other worlds. You see all those stars up there, and you don't know. Some of those stars have planets, other worlds orbit—um, spinning around them. Some of them have moons, some may have two. And a very small amount of those planets have the right conditions to support life. Shteroth is a perfect example of a planet. You said it does not rise with the other stars, and that is probably because it is another planet moving around your sun, which is also a star." The Scout paused to take a breath, feeling tired.  
  
Araphel listened attentively, his mind trying to sort things out. "You say there are all these other 'planets' out there, then why do none of the peoples of them come to our world, such as you have?" He arched a dark eyebrow at her, a light gust of wind sending his long brown hair waving.  
  
"I don't know. There are greater powers at work here. It is as if someone is playing a game, controlling us. I don't like it." Kaylee was interrupted by a yawn that threatened to split her face in half.  
  
"Come, you must get some sleep. Your short friend will be most pleased to know that you have awakened and faired well. Perhaps I will allow him to visit tomorrow, if I think you are suitably improved." Araphel picked her up gently once more, but Kaylee did not even notice when they began their descent back into the heart of the tree-town.  
  
"His name is Firar, and he's a Dwarf," she told the elf sleepily. "And a Keeper too, although I don't think you know what that is."  
  
"Hush, Little One. That is enough from you."  
  
Her mouth twitched at the gentle reprimand, but her mind was already sinking towards sleep. The last thing she was aware of was a sweet melody that lulled her into dreamland.  
  
[A/N: Yeah, this chapter has taken me a long time, and I was holding out until I got 5 reviews to post it, but nobody's actually reading this anyway (and if you are, you haven't been reviewing!) except my good buddy Drake and Tigerlily. Thanks you both! P.S. This chapter's dedicated to Drake Silverclaw, because he's a pain in the butt and a really persuasive nudger. LOL, you know I love you, Drake. *weg*] 


	11. A Visitation

Chapter Eleven: A Visitation  
  
"Where is she?" Firar faced the tall being before him, his arms spread apart menacingly, for he meant to wring the location of Kaylee out of this person, language barrier or no.  
  
The tall one replied in a soft voice, but the dwarf cut him short with a furious shake of his head. He did not understand their tongue, but he would not let that stop him.  
  
"Kaylee, the girl," Firar pronounced slowly, holding up one hand to where he estimated the Scout's height to be. "She was with me…?" When no answer seemed forthcoming, and there was no look of recognition on the tall being's face, he sighed and made a cupping motion with his hands in front of him, cringing at his crude representation of a woman's more noticeable features. He got a definite response for that, for the other allowed a brief smile before gesturing Firar to follow.  
  
The dwarf shied away from the open edges of the staircase, feeling a terrible sense of fear, for even though he had been brought up in a mountain, there had always been some manner of wall to hang on to whenever traveling at great heights. Open land had also been frightening when he had first left his home, for it seemed that there was no end to it. One could travel for hours and nothing would change, making the creeping feeling that one was not actually moving seem real. But to add heights to the equation…  
  
Firar set his feet firmly on the platform the elf stopped at and took a deep breath. Were he more melodramatic, he might have considered kissing the floor. As it was the dwarf offered a brief prayer of thanks to whatever fates controlled this world.  
  
Another person, this one with darker hair, rose to greet Firar's guide. The two conversed quietly in their strange dialect, giving occasional glances to the dwarf, who stood watching them impatiently. A slow movement caught the corner of his eye, and he turned to see a pair of green eyes study him sleepily. They blinked, then widened.  
  
"Firar?" The voice that had whined so often, yet he was so afraid he would never hear again. It was like music to his ears.  
  
"Aye, child. I'm here." The dwarf stepped carefully to her side, and Kaylee sat up to see him. Her dark hair was a mess, and her face was pale, but she still gave him that scowling look.  
  
"I have a name, you know. It's Kaylee. Kay-LEE. Two syllables, not hard to pronounce. And what happened to 'girl'? Needed a change? It's bad enough the elves here call me 'little one'."  
  
Firar swore he never would admit how much he loved that moment. She knew exactly what he needed to hear. Kaylee had forgiven him; she did not blame him for straining herself to the very end. She would have gone on without him, had he insisted they stop. His emotions surged, much as he would deny their existence. Dwarves didn't cry, at least not very often, and never in front of women. Quickly he changed the subject. "Elves? You mean those beings you were asking us about when…?"  
  
She nodded. "Yep, these guys are elves. I don't know how we got here, but they saved my life. Well, Araphel did. He's the one with brown hair and gray eyes. I guess he's some sort of healer."  
  
"They do not understand our language. They took me to see their queen, but even she could not help. Whatever fates have caused this obviously mean to punish us for something."  
  
"Maybe because you fight with me all the time," Kaylee grinned. "And—"  
  
"I fight with you? It is you that fights with me!" Firar retorted.  
  
"I do not! Anyway, I was saying—"  
  
"You and your falsehoods. You do so."  
  
"Do not. Listen to me, I can understand their language, and—"  
  
"May the flies of a thousand horses be upon you. You do so," the dwarf returned, a smile creeping over his face.  
  
"And I hope you rot in chemistry class forever! Do not!" Kaylee grabbed her pillow from behind her and whacked him across the head.  
  
The elves, conversation long since interrupted, were watching with bewildered expressions on their faces. The healer, Araphel, stepped forward and said something to both him and the girl.  
  
Kaylee lowered her pillow from preparing to deal her opponent another blow, and replied, "C'mon, Araphel! It's therapeutic, I promise. He deserves it, besides."  
  
Firar forgot to duck, he was so surprised. "You truly can speak with them?" he asked, snatching the pillow from her hands as it collided with his face.  
  
"Yes, and apparently they heard everything I said to you, too. It's this necklace Shkena gave me, darn her. I can understand everybody and somehow speak everybody's language at the same time. It's very confusing." She glanced between Firar and the elves.  
  
"Do not take the name of the beautiful Shkena in vain," Firar admonished, almost expecting her to appear out of nowhere.  
  
"And why not?" the Scout challenged, eyes angry. "I bet she brought us to this world."  
  
The dark-haired elf again broke in, his face worried as he asked something of Kaylee.  
  
"Shkena is a powerful woman that sent Firar and his friend to take me from my world to aid them on some sort of quest—" the Scout started to explain.  
  
Firar made a strangling noise in his throat and clapped a large hand over her mouth. "Stupid girl! What if these are the ones who possess what we seek?"  
  
Kaylee pried herself free, glaring daggers at the dwarf. "Watch it! These elves aren't dangerous, because…because they're just not!"  
  
He ground his teeth in aggravation. "And how do you know with such certainty? You have no valid reason—"  
  
"Yes I do! Mychal said that there would be others that would join us. The Healer, The Guide, The Peacekeeper and whoever! The real danger doesn't start until we have all of them with us." Kaylee's face was flushed with animated anger.  
  
"Then what were the Fades? Were they not dangerous? They nearly killed both of you, and had not Shkena brought us all to this place, you certainly would have perished! You of all should be grateful to her!" Firar responded, not quite yelling.  
  
"Oh, right. Grateful. How do you know that she didn't sic the Fades on us in the first place? She seems to be able to control everything, why not the monsters that attack us too?" The Scout crossed her arms.  
  
"You do not know of what you speak! The beautiful Shkena would never try to harm Mychal or I—"  
  
"Then where is he? Oh, that's right. He's recovering from a Fade and—"  
  
"And he knows that he told both of you not to fight."  
  
Kaylee stopped mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as both dwarf and girl turned to see Mychal enter, supported by two elves. Firar saw that his friend looked pale, but all right. There was a clean bandage around his chest, and the Warrior moved gingerly as he lowered himself into the chair by the bed, dismissing his attendants. He pinned them both with disapproving looks, and Firar guiltily stuck Kaylee's forgotten pillow back on her bed. "You gave me your word," he said, shaking his head.  
  
"We weren't fighting, were we Firar? You were just giving me some healing in the verbal department, right?" Kaylee prompted, smiling brightly at the Keeper.  
  
He picked up on it immediately. "Yes of course. You may even question Araphel and his companion who saw the entire affair." He looked over and saw only the healer still with them, a very confused look on his fair face as he watched them.  
  
Mychal looked at the elf, then back at Firar. "Yet because they cannot understand any of us, I am afraid that counts for naught," he replied, grinning.  
  
"Nonsense, my friend. Kaylee can speak with them perfectly well. Although what he has been hearing from her is odd because he cannot comprehend my responses," Firar admitted, stroking his beard.  
  
"Is this true?" Mychal turned to the Scout.  
  
Kaylee nodded. "Yep. I'll even introduce you. Araphel, could you come here for a minute? I want you to meet my friends."  
  
The elf approached warily, casting uncertain glances at the man and dwarf. He replied to Kaylee, who merely smiled. "Don't worry, they won't bite. This is Mychal, he is a male human, quite a bit older than me, and good with a sword."  
  
The Warrior nodded to the elf, before adding, "Tell him thank you for healing me."  
  
"He gives his sincerest thanks for the healing powers of your people." Kaylee then turned to Firar. "And this short being here is Firar, whom I've already told you about. He's a dwarf, and a Keeper, so I suggest you hide your valuables while you still have the chance."  
  
Firar turned to the healer and bowed, crossing his arms in a dwarvish gesture of respect. "Do not worry, I would not take from those who have aided us. I am forever indebted to you, Master Healer."  
  
Kaylee repeated what he had said, and the elf in turn bowed to the dwarf, saying something which the Scout rapidly translated:  
  
"No debt is necessary, Keeper Firar. Your arrival has already repaid more than you know, for I have had my eyes opened. I am Araphel, an elvish healer, servant to the Lady Avilah. I am pleased to meet you all."  
  
"What about his eyes?" the dwarf asked Kaylee.  
  
"I'll explain later," she replied softly. Then, to Araphel she asked, "Who is this Lady Avilah? Is she a queen?"  
  
Upon the healer's answer, she continued, "Then she would want to see us. Well, me at least. My friends and I want to learn all about where we are and about your people, because then we can figure out why we are here."  
  
"I should think that you could easily have discovered that by now, Kaylee," a soft voice said. A glowing light seemed to emanate from behind Firar, and the dwarf saw the surprise on Mychal and Araphel's faces before turning to see Shkena standing there. He threw himself on the ground, and heard Mychal greet the powerful woman.  
  
"Beautiful Shkena, we had not thought to see you again. Forgive our ignorance."  
  
She smiled benignly at them all, as Firar chanced to raise his head. "All is well, do not fear. It was I indeed who brought you to this world, to serve a great purpose that will now be revealed. Araphel," she summoned, and the dwarf turned to see the elf standing straight and silent under her gaze. He replied to her, but the Keeper did not understand.  
  
"One thing I will tell you, and one thing I will give."  
  
Suddenly it all clicked in Firar's head. This sounded so familiar, but then she had said that she would tell both Mychal and him something. Shkena had said the same thing to Kaylee. Araphel…Araphel was the Healer!  
  
"I tell you this: that you are the Healer. And this is my gift to you. Never lose it, or your voice shall be lost." And then she vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.  
  
"That was original," Kaylee muttered as the elf blinked as if roused from a trance. "I think I've heard that somewhere before."  
  
"Indeed," Firar commented dryly. "I have no idea where." The pillow clipped his shoulder, and he chuckled. He studied the slim elf as Araphel slowly opened his hand and let the necklace slip through his fingers, catching its chain and studying the charm closely. It resembled Kaylee's in color and shape, but the dwarf's quick eyes that could pick out a ruby from a rockslide away saw that the glimmering stone in the center was an emerald green.  
  
"Put it on! Put it on and you'll be able to understand Mychal and Firar!" Kaylee urged, leaning forward in excitement. She hardly noticed when her pillow connected with her head. Mychal took it away before the Scout could retaliate.  
  
Araphel slipped the chain around his neck, and then touched his ears in bewilderment. "It is most strange," he said, then looked with curious eyes at all of them. "Can you understand me now?"  
  
"Yes, and we would like to welcome you to our group, Master Elf. I am Mychal, as Kaylee has told you, but I am also known as the Warrior. Kaylee is the Scout, and Firar is the Keeper. We have much to explain to you, and you doubtless will have many questions for us. But before we begin, do you suppose we might find something to eat?"  
  
Firar bellowed in laughter before moving to pound his friend on the back. "Now I know you are all right, for you are asking for food! Come, Araphel! We have the entire day ahead of us; let us make sure the invalids do not go hungry!"  
  
The elf smiled at them all, before leading Firar away. "We would not want Kaylee's mouth to stop moving for lack of sustenance," he said in a perfectly somber tone as they descended the staircase.  
  
"Hey! I heard that…"  
  
[A/N: Another long one, but it only took me most of a day to write it. Just sort of snuck up and decided to come out. I know we all have days like those. If I get another reviewer I'll dedicate this chapter to them! (Hint, hint!) ] 


	12. No More Lifelines

Chapter Twelve: No More Lifelines  
  
"Austus, what in the name of celestia do you think you are doing?" Shkena demanded, twisting her slender frame in her husband's strong arms as he picked her up forcefully and tossed her onto a padded bench. With swift precision he tied her securely to it, placing a spell that she could not break upon the bonds.  
  
"You have had entirely too much control over the four. It is my turn to do something, and now you cannot get in my way," he returned, slyly rubbing his hands together, sitting down on a stool and considering the map spread before him with calculating eyes.  
  
Shkena squirmed in a most unladylike manner, trying to see what he was doing. "You would not dare to challenge my plans now!" she protested as he chuckled over something she couldn't see.  
  
"Oh yes, dear wife, I most certainly would. And the best part is that there is no way you can stop me," Austus said gleefully, pausing to duck under the table to retrieve another map. He laid it out on a separate surface, tracing something with one finger.  
  
"Austus, you…you…" Shkena could not even come up with a term for her infuriating spouse. "Do not even consider—"  
  
Plonk. It was too late. Four silver figurines were plopped down on the unfurled parchment, and Austus performed a complicated enchantment that would prevent any interference from either party, just in case Shkena managed to get him drunk enough to undo his hard work. She was known to pull some sneaky tricks when she wanted her way.  
  
"There, my beautiful rose. See what happens to your precious chosen ones now. Think of this as retribution for taking my opportunity to introduce my Healer. He was mine, you know. I was the one who picked him, and you took my chance from me."  
  
Shkena's golden curls were in disarray by the time he freed her. "Austus, you indolent swine. You were occupied with your infernal creatures, so I had to do it for you. Were you not so busy trying to find beings to confound my choices, you would have been able to do it yourself. As it was, I had to use the same speech again. Do you realize how unintelligent that makes me appear, especially in front of the lower-minded ones?" She conjured up a large seeing-orb, which floated above the map the four were now upon.  
  
"Just you wait, my darling. I have some wonderful surprises in store for you and the Chosen. You will see that my time was not ill-spent," Austus replied, unruffled.  
  
Suddenly Shkena sat up in the soft chair she was resting in. "Austus, where precisely did you send them?" A note of worry began to grow in her beautiful voice, as she watched the action unfold in the orb.  
  
He glanced up from the dragon he was prodding across one of the other maps. "Back to the Scout's world. I would like to see her handle three medieval people in her own society, when they're solid." Austus chortled to himself.  
  
"No, you didn't. It is the Scout's world, yes, but it is not. You have opened the Other map! Austus, how could you be so blind? Did you not look at the seal before you opened it?" Shkena's eyes were wide and panicked.  
  
For once, he was without a response. "I…I—" The powerful man swallowed loudly in the silence as his wife jumped up to study the spidery drawings on the parchment. She reached out one hand to touch it before he could stop her. A small bolt of lightning snaked out and gripped her hand. Shkena let out a small shriek, dancing back a few steps.  
  
"You put an enchantment on it! How can we help them? They could be killed, and the prophecy ruined!" Shkena wrung her slim hands in distress. Something like this was not supposed to occur! "We cannot change what we have already put in motion. The darkness is already overcoming the world we planted it in. People may be dying already, and this delay ensures that there will be slim chances of survival. Austus, what have you done?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper. This was not supposed to happen.  
  
"I did not mean to do it, Shkena. Truly I did not notice that it was the Other. I swear to you I did not! You must believe me!"  
  
She could not meet his pleading eyes. "How long? How long have you doomed them to remain there?"  
  
Austus licked his suddenly dry lips. "Two hours."  
  
"Six days. May He have mercy on them." Shkena could only shake her head and sink back into her chair, eyes fixed helplessly on the scene displayed in the seeing-orb.  
  
  
  
As he opened his eyes, Mychal was surprised to see gently-waving leaves above him. There was gray sky beyond them, and he sat up slowly, mindful of his healing injury. He was momentarily disoriented…how had he come to be in such a lush forest? The temperature was uncomfortably warm, and the front of his silver tunic lent to him by the elves was already unbuttoned. Yet from a sense of unease he fastened it quickly, not wanting to reveal any signs of weakness to anyone he should run across. His sword was still at his side, a fact the Warrior was grateful for. He was nothing without his weapons.  
  
A quick search told him nothing other than the fact that he was beneath a large tree in a small clearing. "Hello?" he called, pushing aside some large leaves on an unknown bush, trying to see if there was anyone else about. He listened attentively, but there was no sound. Not a breeze rustling through the branches, nor even the chirping of bugs in the underbrush. It was an unnatural silence, and it unnerved Mychal. He turned, attempting to get his bearings, but there was no sunlight to cast a clear shadow. The grayish light merely made a distorted shape on the grass, and it was of no help.  
  
The Warrior shrugged to himself. There was no other way but to simply walk in a single direction until he ended up somewhere. And walk he did, all the while calling, "Firar? Kaylee? Araphel?" Soon he fell into a pattern. Left, right, left. "Firar?" Right, left, right. "Kaylee?" Left, right, left. "Araphel?" Right, left, right. "Anyone?" Over and over, until Mychal's throat was sore and his wound complained to him loudly.  
  
At last he sank down against a nearby rock, wishing that his pack had somehow made it with him, for he was parched with thirst. The Warrior had nearly decided to take a small nap before continuing on, when he noticed two warm eyes studying him from underneath a dense shrub. Some sort of animal, he mused. A dog, most likely.  
  
"Come out, I will not hurt you," he called in a coaxing tone, extending one hand to the creature. Slowly a small puppy crept out, its skinny body shaking all over. It was horribly thin, with large lop-ears. Its coat was brown with black splotches, and it nestled affectionately into Mychal's hand as he stroked its head. He searched through a pouch on his belt, eyes lighting as he came across the only strip of meat he had left. Without thinking, he offered it to the young animal, who snapped it up without a second's pause.  
  
"Easy, little one. Do not choke," Mychal laughed, scratching the pup behind its large ears. "Where do you come from?"  
  
A rough voice interrupted his thoughts. "Oy, you! Stand up slowly and put'cher hands on yer head."  
  
Mychal looked about quickly as he rose to obey the command. He could have any manner of weapon pointed at him, and he did not know what to expect. The puppy cowered between his feet in fear. "I mean no harm—"  
  
"Quiet, you! The Master'll be the one to decide that." Something hard and blunt poked Mychal between the shoulder blades, and the Warrior resisted the urge to draw his sword, though he felt sure he could defeat this man in the space of a heartbeat.  
  
A small whine drew his attention to the ball of fur at his feet, and heedless of the danger, Mychal bent and cradled the pup in his arms. The voice behind him made no objections, merely prodded him forward, along a straight line.  
  
"Awl right, move. Don't know how you got in 'ere, but I do know how you're going ta get out."  
  
"Where am I?" Mychal said at last.  
  
"As if you don't know. How the likes of you got in…the guards will be getting it today."  
  
Something large loomed in front of them, a strange sort of building. Mychal had only seen something similar to it on Kaylee's world, and then from inside her castle. Yet this edifice had the semblance of carved stone on most sides, in the form of columns and buttresses. His captor stopped when they reached an open, cobble-stoned area. A young girl was scrubbing the floor, but looked up in surprise as the Warrior stopped before her.  
  
"Lilly, go get the Master and tell him I've an intruder found in the garden. Hurry now!"  
  
The dog in Mychal's arms wriggled once and licked at his chin, as if to somehow apologize for their predicament. The servant girl nodded hurriedly, wiping her hands on her dress before dashing inside. It was not long before the man known as Master appeared from within, a short balding man with a great bushy mustache and a cane. He gave Mychal a cold up and down glance.  
  
"Who are you and how did you get in?" he demanded.  
  
Mychal wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. "I am Mychal, and I do not know how I came to be here," he answered. It wasn't quite the truth, but he felt mentioning anything about Shkena would be a bad idea.  
  
The man was most noticeably unsatisfied with that answer. "Surely you don't expect me to believe that. You must have taken great pains, scum, to get in here. Did you kill the guards? Or did you bribe one of them?" He tapped his cane on the stones laid in the ground.  
  
The Warrior could only shake his head in bewilderment. "I merely awoke, and I was here. I do not know anything about your guards, I swear to you. Please, you must help me find my companions. There were three of them—"  
  
The Master's face grew red, and his mustache bristled fiercely. "I don't make deals with villains such as you! Your kind has destroyed this world, and by all rights I should simply kill you and toss you back into the wasteland that you have created!" He strode right up to Mychal and tapped him forcibly on his chest with the head of his cane. The Warrior struggled not to wince as his tender flesh protested. He carefully tucked the puppy into the crook of his arm to keep the animal out of harm's way. Mychal held his temper in check only by an extreme act of will, thinking of what he had to lose if he should end up dead.  
  
"I do not know what you speak of, sir, but I assure you that I had nothing to do with the creation of any 'wasteland' whatsoever. You must believe me!" Mychal's plea was underscored by the whining of the pup.  
  
Suddenly the man stopped, as if seeing the bundle of fur for the first time. "Is that your dog?"  
  
"No, I found the animal in your forest. Does it belong to you?" He couldn't have been more startled at the change of conversation.  
  
"No! But you…you mean it when you say that it is not yours? Why have you not eaten it yet?"  
  
Mychal recoiled from the idea, and an uncontrollable look of disgust crept across his face. "There are other beasts for killing and eating. Dogs want nothing more than to protect their masters and earn a good meal in their service. They are loyal friends, why would I do such a thing?"  
  
This answer very obviously surprised the Master. He drew back a few paces, then waved at the man behind the Warrior. "You must be who you say you are, for the scum out there would not even pause to devour a small meal such as the one you carry there. I am Smith, if any name must be given. You shall become a servant in my estate, until which time I see fit to dismiss you." The corpulent man turned to enter his home.  
  
"Wait!" Mychal took a step forward, then was reminded of his place by the blunt object once more poked between his shoulders. "What of my companions? I must find them!"  
  
The Master turned back and sighed. "If they are not here with you, then I would already consider them lost. They wouldn't have the skills to stay alive outside any longer than a few minutes. Don't spend all your time grieving for them, because there isn't a point. I'll send Magda out to assign you."  
  
He left the Warrior standing alone, stunned.  
  
[A/N: This plot twist came up and bit me on the behind, so I ran with it. Yeah, there are some confusing things that will be explained next chapter, so just hold your horses and deal with it. No popular demand means slow writing, sorry!] 


	13. The Lost Ones

Chapter Thirteen: The Lost Ones  
  
Araphel felt as if he was choking. The very air was dirty, filled with poisonous fumes that made his forest lungs ache with each suffering breath. He coughed, wiping the tears that formed in his eyes from the clinging smoke that hung around him. It seemed that he had been wandering for hours amidst black piles of scorched rubble, not knowing where he was, or where anybody was. His newfound status as the Healer still called forth questions in his mind, but if there was one thing he did understand, it was that this 'Shkena' had probably caused this to happen. And he was on another world.  
  
Somehow he had thought it would be different, grander. Not this dead place that threatened to cut off all the life within him. Yet the elf forced himself to press on, not to stop. He did not call out, for fear of arousing something unfriendly set upon destroying him. An irrational terror had come upon him, and Araphel was unnaturally jumpy. He was alone, without any kind of weapons, and apparently far away from anyone that could help him.  
  
Eventually, the cloying smog seemed to thin, revealing burned-out husks of buildings. There were partial signs still visible on some, but they were in a script he could not read. His sharp ears heard faint voices from his right. Araphel ducked his tall frame low to keep out of sight as he skirted a large twisted mass of metal, which strangely had wheels. The elf peered around a corner of a stone building, catching a brief glimpse of a band of very dirty humans arguing around a hidden object.  
  
"Look at her! She is from the inside; she does not look like us. Too clean and pretty," one of them spat.  
  
"See the necklace I nicked off her? I bet the jewel alone will buy enough food to last us years!" Another waved an unmistakable silver chain in the air. It quickly disappeared as the holder was buried under a pile of bodies.  
  
"Hyatt, South, Cat, get off him. No fighting, you know that. None of us will survive any of the others if we can't survive ourselves. Up now!" A redheaded female punctuated her speech with heavy blows from a club she carried. There were muffled exclamations and curses as the four brawlers regained their feet. "Jerk found it, he can keep it."  
  
One of them sneered, "We all know why you favor him, Flame. Just admit it."  
  
The female's eyes narrowed. "Say that again, South. I dare you. Because they'll be the last words you'll say after I give you a broken jaw." She hefted her club as if to make a point.  
  
The other lowered her eyes and backed down. Flame grinned unpleasantly. "That's what I thought. Anybody else want to say anything about me and Jerk?"  
  
There was a rumble of dissent, but nobody came forward. Flame lifted her head and let out a piercing whistle that caused Araphel to clap his hands to his ears. The redhead looked around in annoyance and yelled at the top of her voice, "Sniper, Booth! Where are ya?"  
  
A lanky young human leapt over a distant pile of unidentifiable metal, clawing one hand through his cropped hair. "Nobody on that side, Flame."  
  
She nodded once to him, then again shouted, "Sniper! Get your ugly keister back here now!"  
  
Araphel strained to see Kaylee, but the girl was hidden by the group of young humans, who were looking around suspiciously as their comrade didn't appear.  
  
"I'm coming Flame, just taking care of a spy." The hard voice came from right behind the elf, and the healer spun only to see a boot collide with the side of his face.  
  
With years of practice, Araphel rolled with the blow and came up on his feet, in clear view of the ragtag band. With wild cries the majority charged at him, leaving the elf no opening to Kaylee. Nimbly he ascended a mound of rubble, using his lightness to lose them easily as he dodged from pile to pile in search of the Scout. A flash of pure white among all the desecration snagged his attention. Kaylee was lying bound and gagged, guarded by two of the scruffy humans.  
  
Something tackled him from behind, and Araphel spared the briefest fraction of a second to berate his underestimation of humans. Then the two of them were tumbling, serrated edges of metal and hard blocks of stone biting into them. As soon as both of them had hit the ground, the other humans were instantly upon the elf, roughly binding his hands before yanking him to his feet to face Flame.  
  
"So you're a spy. Who are you working for? Cobra, or maybe even Magnum? You're dressed nice enough for it," the leader taunted, pacing back and forth in front of the elf.  
  
"I do not work for either. I am a stranger to this land, and I do not know how I have come to be here," Araphel stated simply. Something in the back of his mind warned him not to claim friendship with Kaylee. He must appear indifferent in the matter, if he were to save both their skins.  
  
Flame looked at him in shock, then her mouth curved into a cynical smile. "'A stranger in this land?' Now I've heard it all. Look, you're either from inside, or you're outside. And if you don't work for Magnum, then you must be from inside. Which means that whoever you are or whoever you belong to will pay dearly to get you back. Or we could just kill you right now and have a good meal for once."  
  
Araphel's features twisted at the horrific thought of cannibalism. The concept left him speechless, and he held his tongue as the red-haired young woman continued.  
  
"So make it easy for yourself and spill the truth. Otherwise I'll let South and Cat have their way with you, and they don't play very nice." Flame leered at him, before jerking her chin at the two that stood guard over Kaylee.  
  
The Scout narrowed her eyes and struggled against her captors like a caged animal, trying to work her gag off. One of them struck her across the face, but she didn't desist. Finally she got her mouth free and cried, "Araphel! You've got to find Mychal and Firar! Don't worry about me, just find them!" Her green eyes pled with his soul as the other guard smashed the end of a club into her face. Blood flowed down her cheek, but Kaylee still fought.  
  
"Stubborn insider. Give her one, Booth," Flame said in a tone of exasperated admiration.  
  
The tall boy removed something from his belt and jammed it into Kaylee's shoulder as her captors tried to hold her still. The Scout sagged immediately, having suddenly lost control over her muscles.  
  
"Hey Flame. What was she sayin'?" Jerk asked, lighting a crude stick and putting it into his mouth.  
  
"Who cares, Jerk? All insiders are aliens. Who knows what they say. C'mon, let's get back to the 'ground before Cobra's gang shows up. We got what we want, let's figger out how we're gonna get the insiders to pay."  
  
Sniper, the man who had tackled Araphel and now stood watching him like a hawk, demanded, "What do we do with the spy?"  
  
Flame shrugged her slim shoulders. "Bring 'im. Don't want the others to find out about him. If he's an insider, maybe they'll pay for him too."  
  
With that, Sniper shoved Araphel hard. "Hear that? Move, pretty boy. You're a poor excuse for a spy, and it's a good thing I caught you and not Cobra, or you'd be missing some parts." The elf had no choice but to join the entourage of young humans that picked their way through the seemingly endless desolation. They knew their way; they knew all the traps and pitfalls of their path.  
  
Araphel wondered what had caused it all. What had happened to this world, that humans could become so primeval and debased? True, he had only Kaylee and Mychal as examples, but they were good, decent creatures. His breath rasped in his lungs, but the healer tried to ignore it as the band stopped before an especially large collection of debris. Flame looked around warily, before prying up a sheet of metal to reveal a cramped passageway that Araphel presumed led below ground.  
  
The tunnel was damp and dark. Araphel, who was used to open air and free spaces, found it confining, nearly suffocating. He relaxed visibly when they entered a larger area, some sort of tiled room.  
  
"Welcome to what's left of the subway system. It's all we got, after the bombing. Now it's our home. We're the Lost Ones," Sniper explained, almost conversationally as he shoved Araphel up against a post and tied him there securely. "Enjoy your stay."  
  
"Bombing? I do not understand." Araphel wanted to know more, he wanted to keep this human talking.  
  
Sniper's mouth quirked in an ironic grin. "Of course you don't. You're a stranger. Let me refresh your memory. After America negotiated for peace with Germany and Russia in World War Three, those two communistic countries allowed America to go on its way, living pretty much a normal life, with some constraints. We weren't allowed to make weapons, weren't allowed to attend church, weren't allowed to have the freedom of speech, and all the young men under thirty had to enlist in the armed services. I was in the Navy." The young man rolled up one sleeve to show a crude tattoo on his left forearm.  
  
"And then?" the elf prompted softly, his gray eyes intent upon Sniper's blue ones.  
  
The boy ran a hand through his cropped blond hair. "Then we tried to rise up against them. Freedom is in every American's blood. We will always fight for what is just, and we wanted our rights. The common people in America rebelled. Our loyalty, our spirit, never died." Sniper's voice was fiercely passionate. "But those who liked their new positions too much, those who were wealthy and could afford the circumstances stood against us. They are the insiders, because they knew about the bombings Germany and Russia had planned for us. They were protected and safe, promised immunity. Their homes and lands and loved ones are still intact. Mine aren't. Flame's aren't. None of the Lost Ones have anything left. That's why we're lost. Where do you turn when there is nothing?" His voice broke in sorrow.  
  
Araphel watched the young human before him, wishing to reach out and offer comfort. Yet he could not. He had never known such loss, never in all his immortal life. "I cannot fathom what you have lost. I will not pretend that I know what you speak of, but I do know that you have each other. There is always hope as long as you have companions." Araphel glanced at where Kaylee had been propped against a wall. She was beginning to twitch and move normally again, but her eyes had a distinctly unfocused quality.  
  
Sniper caught the gaze. "She your friend?"  
  
The elf shook his head. "Merely an acquaintance. She came to me grievously injured, and I healed her. I know not what to make of this turn of events."  
  
Kaylee lifted her head and blinked a few times. Her gaze flickered for just a moment on Sniper's face. "Bryan…" she whispered.  
  
"What did she say?" Sniper demanded suddenly, his eyes piercing. He grabbed Araphel's shirtfront in a strong grip and shook him. "Tell me what she said!"  
  
"She said 'Bryan'." Araphel watched as a great change came over the young man's face. All the bitterness and hardness seemed to fall away.  
  
"Kay…Kaylee?" His mouth formed the name uncertainly, as if he had not uttered it in a long time. "No, you're dead. I saw you die." Sniper rose unsteadily, taking a shuddering step towards the Scout. "You're dead!"  
  
Araphel interrupted. "She cannot understand you! You took her necklace from her, she does not know what you say."  
  
From a shadow, Flame strode forward, the jewelry hanging from her fingers. "Here, Snipe. I know what the price of love is." She handed it to him without another word and walked away.  
  
Sniper stared at it for a moment, then knelt before Kaylee and fastened the chain. The Scout was gazing at him desperately, wanting some sign of confirmation. "Bryan? How can it be you?" Her speech was slurred from the drug the one called Booth had given her.  
  
Tears slid down the young man's face, and he touched Kaylee's hair, then the gash on her brow before whipping out a knife and freeing her hands. She threw her arms around his neck, and he gathered her into his arms, hugging as if he would never let her go. Kaylee was laughing, Bryan was crying.  
  
Araphel knew the truth. The truth that would rip the lovers apart. They were of different worlds. And Kaylee would leave, and Bryan could not go with her. Fate was cruel.  
  
[A/N: I won't say anything. No wait, yes I will. I'VE GOT A BOYFRIEND! *dances around wildly* Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my boyfriend, and this is yet another plot twist that sank its pointy little teeth in my rear and hung on. And yet these things aren't painful…] 


	14. No More Wine

Chapter Fourteen: No More Wine  
  
"I swear upon my mother's beard, I'll never drink again," Firar mumbled incoherently, raising his shaggy head two inches off the floor before letting it drop back with a groan. He had a massive headache, and he was reasonably sure it was due to his introduction into the fine world of elven wine. Blast Araphel and his people for their irresistible cordials! He wasn't sure where or when he'd lost awareness. Slowly the dwarf levered himself up into a sitting position, cradling his head in his hands. His helmet had disappeared sometime between drinking songs and the tasting of red wine, and when Firar dared, he looked around for it hazily, still unsure of his surroundings.  
  
The walls were very close, and there were a number of implements standing in neat rows against them. The dwarf blinked a few times, commanding them to come into focus. It appeared to be a collection of cleaning supplies, such as mops and pails, yet several he could not discern the meaning for. Even in Firar's addled frame of mind it did not take him long to guess what had happened.  
  
"Shkena, you are fast beginning to lose my respect," he muttered to the air above him. Laboring mightily, Firar struggled to his feet, swaying dizzily for a few moments. He spotted what appeared to be a door, but there was no latch. He pushed cautiously, and when it didn't budge the dwarf backed up and took a running start, slamming one armored shoulder into the unyielding wood. Stars burst before his eyes and the Keeper slumped senseless to the floor.  
  
Once again, even slower than before Firar got up, looking around for something to assist him in his efforts. His head was beginning to clear marginally, and he caught sight of his helmet and weapons lying on the floor in his temporary cell. Letting out a triumphant cry, the dwarf seized his belongings. Jamming his helm upon his head and holding his axe ready before him, Firar prepared to face down the door again.  
  
The Keeper had just drawn back and was ready to strike, when suddenly the stubborn portal swung open on oiled hinges. An elderly woman, gray hair flying in wisps from beneath a white cap, stared wide-eyed at the hung- over, axe-wielding dwarf.  
  
Before Firar could lower his weapon, the woman let out a choked scream, before her eyes rolled up into her head, and she fainted dead away.  
  
"Blasted females and their low constitutions," Firar grumbled, quickly stepping over the prone form, making sure the woman was still breathing. He was in a lengthy hallway hung with many framed portraits of people dressed in strange clothes. The Keeper tugged at his beard, considering his predicament. He was in a world he did not know, and without any of his companions. Nor did he know what time he was in, yet the dwarf could only assume that it was similar to Kaylee's, judging from what he had seen in her castle.  
  
But this place was truly a castle! The marble tiles gleamed in the bright lighting, and there were carved pillars every few meters, almost worthy of rivaling dwarf craftsmanship. Firar scarcely knew where to look first as he wandered down the corridor, axe swinging from one hand. In his awe he nearly forgot his primary goal: to find the others. Yet he was unsure whether this new place warranted stealth or not. Firar knew he was not invisible this time, but neither did there seem to be any real threat, judging from the one inhabitant he had met thus far.  
  
Voices ahead on the left distracted him, and Firar came to a heavy wooden door that stood slightly ajar. To his surprise, he found that he could understand the language spoken, even if he did not comprehend all of the words.  
  
"…I'll show that blasted Committee! I'll show them all! Think they can get into the Triumvirate without me? You gentleman know that I cannot be resisted. If I attack the Committee, the Triumvirate will be forced to bring my estate in as an ally."  
  
"But Lord Sevineaux, not all of our defenses are prepared for such a strike against them. Perhaps with a few more weeks of preparation—" a younger voice joined the first.  
  
"Silence, Coldwell. We have scarcely less than three days before the Triumvirate will make its decision, and I have spies that say the Committee is the one. That must change. Magnum, Cobra, do you have our extra forces ready?"  
  
A rough voice spoke up, sounding as if the speaker had gravel in his throat. "The outsiders will move against the Committee on your orders. There is one band which has resisted us, but they can't hide for long. If they will not join the uprising, we shall kill them."  
  
"Tsk. Such violence over such worthless animals," Sevineaux said mockingly.  
  
"Their leader owes me something. And Magnum always collects his debts."  
  
Firar digested all he had heard. Some kind of war was coming, and uncommon people were joining together. It was something he should have no involvement in, but these humans sounded bloodthirsty.  
  
Suddenly, something heavy clanged against the dwarf's helmet, causing his ears to ring and his headache to explode violently. "Argh!" Firar shouted, swinging blindly with his axe. The curved blade bit into something soft behind him, and several loud bangs rang out. There was a yell from the man he had wounded, and bright blood splashed on the pale tiles of the floor.  
  
Ping! Something ricocheted off his thick armor, but another something drove itself deep into the flesh of his right arm, his axe-wielding arm. His weapon of choice fell to the floor with a loud clong. Firar spun around to face three other men with strange black metal objects. From the way they held them, the dwarf wisely assumed them to be weapons of some kind, but paid no heed. With his left hand he drew his double-bladed sword, charging directly for the nearest man. There was another bang, and a brief flash of fire and smoke from the metal weapon. Pain lanced through Firar's left leg, and he stumbled, falling on his face, his sword skittering away across the slick floor. Had his senses not been clouded, the dwarf knew he would have fought better, but he knew not what these new weapons were, that they could kill an opponent simply with a bit of flame.  
  
"Mason, Roberts. What is this all about?" Sevineaux demanded from somewhere above Firar, who was trying desperately to fight off waves of pain.  
  
"One of the maids reported an intruder, my lord. We found him eavesdropping on your private meeting."  
  
"Turn him over, so I can see his face."  
  
Rough hands seized the Keeper's shoulders, and he bit back a growl. He looked up into a tall human's face, a thin hard face that seemed like a cruel mask. Almost like it never changed expression. "Release me, human," Firar spat, trying to hold onto the threads of his dwarven dignity.  
  
"Human? And what would that make you then, an ape?" Sevineaux asked coldly.  
  
The dwarf puffed out his chest with pride. "I am a dwarf, ignorant swine! And I did not intrude upon your castle, I merely woke up here."  
  
The lord of the castle nodded sagely, as if truly considering the statement. "I see. A dwarf that magically transported into my home. Do you take me for a fool?!" he thundered, but Firar didn't wince, having seen Mychal in much fiercer tempers. Although that usually was when the Keeper had gone and gotten them banished from a village, or run out of town on a splintery rail.  
  
"Only those who are foolish enough to ask such a question truly are fools," Firar answered innocently, though grinding the words out as he fought against his wounds.  
  
Sevineaux seemed to run out of patience at that point. "Take him away to the Chamber, and clean up this mess! I'll interrogate him later."  
  
Firar was picked up like so much baggage, and the combined loss of blood and aftereffects of elven wine overwhelmed him in seconds, coming in the form of welcome darkness.  
  
[A/N: Dun dun dunn……..the plot thickens. Sorry so short, but it took me awhile to grind this out. My muse is shot, so please forgive me. This chapter is dedicated to Lil Loki Puck, my newest reviewer! Thank you thank you thank you!] 


	15. Late At Night

Chapter Fifteen: Late At Night  
  
Mychal tossed and turned on his bed all night, his mind plagued with matters that he did not understand. His companions could not be lost! All they had worked for, all that had to come to be, there was no margin for errors such as this. He needed to find a way to escape this place, but did not know enough to do so. The sensible part of his mind that the Warrior rarely listened to warned him that he was not equipped with sufficient knowledge of his surroundings to attempt to search out his friends.  
  
He rolled over on the lumpy bed in the small room that had been assigned to him, wincing into the darkness as his injury protested. The day's work had been different than what he was used to, but nothing the man couldn't handle. He had been in plenty of situations that required the use of several odd skills, not the least of which was potato peeling, second only to his skills with an onion. Most of them had been occasions where he had not had money enough to pay for his rent at the inns where he slept when he actually was in a settlement. Then Firar had come along.  
  
Mychal had first encountered the dwarf when fetching a sack of potatoes from a tavernkeeper's storehouse. In actuality, he had first become acquainted with Firar's backside, as the Keeper was involved in slipping bags of food out of a cleverly-concealed trapdoor in one of the walls. It was only when Mychal had grabbed the dwarf by the seat of his pants and hauled him back through the hole that the latter became aware of the other's presence. What had ensued then was a lengthy dissertation on the function of Keepers and how they did not 'steal'. The man of course had taken the opposite view, if only to rankle the small thief and spare himself from returning to work in the kitchen so soon.  
  
Firar had painted the life of a Keeper in such a glorious fashion that Mychal became intrigued. The dwarf had boasted how he could infiltrate any stronghold and take anything without being caught, as all masters of the trade could do. Half on a whim, half on a dare, Mychal called Firar on his statement, and the two had fallen into company.  
  
The Warrior smiled to himself in the darkness as he recalled his first meeting with his friend. There were so many memories, most of them good. There were the few that called up recollections of jail cells, but on the whole, Mychal would not trade his journeys with Firar for all the gold in his world.  
  
There was a tiny whine from the end of the bed as he shifted again, finally rising to walk about the room. Absently Mychal paused to pat the young dog before moving to the open window and resting his elbows upon the sill. He could make out the surrounding garden in the gloom, but everything was silent. There was no sound of crickets chirping, or even a breeze. The air seemed stagnant, hanging in one place. All at once the Warrior felt oppressed, and he breathed deeply to allay the feeling. He needed his mind to be clear and focused if he were ever to rescue himself from this predicament.  
  
Quietly he opened the door to his room and slipped out, knowing he would not find solace inside the great castle. Almost as if by accident he found himself outside where he had first arrived, and he took a seat on the ground, content to study the blank sky, where unseen clouds hid the stars.  
  
A twig snapped somewhere to his left, and Mychal tensed, hand going for the sword that was not there. Mentally he chastised himself as an older man stepped from a concealing shrub, empty-handed.  
  
"Ev'nin'. I wanted to say I was sorry 'bout before, with the whole pris'ner routine. But the Master always has to be careful."  
  
The Warrior looked at the man's shadowed eyes before replying. "It is all right. I do not understand this place, but I do know the need for caution. All is forgiven."  
  
The other nodded, then lowered himself to a nearby rock. "Thanks. As fer this place, t'ain't much to unnerstand. The owner is the Master, who's part of the Committee. Heck, he is the Committee. In a coupla days, somethin' big's gonna happen, and he'll be right in the middle." He said it in a conspiratorial whisper, and Mychal sensed that this information was important.  
  
"What is 'the Committee'?"  
  
The old man rocked back a little, surprised that the Warrior didn't know. "Well, it's s'posed to be a group of pow'rful men, who control most of the U.S.'s land and valuable exports, but I say there's much more to that'n meets the eye. The Master here is really t'on'y one on the Committee, but he hides it behind a group of cover organizations. So while it appears that there's really six great men on the Committee, there's on'y him. D'you follow?"  
  
Mychal nodded, trying to sort things out in his head. "But why should he use such a deception?"  
  
"Why? If he didn't then Sevineaux and a load of others'd be after him! He's favored with the Triumvirate, the ones who have power over the world. Rumor says that they're going to make him an official ally. They're choosing one in the next few days, that's what I was talkin' about. And Sevineaux is just crazy 'nough to try and attack the Master, believe me."  
  
Things were starting to make sense, a battle for power was coming, and it appeared that Mychal was on one side. He did not want to be involved, but perhaps this Triumvirate might help be able to help him locate his companions. "How would this Sevineaux mount his offense?"  
  
"By any means necessary, even if it means dragging the outsiders into it. The man's insane, I tell ya."  
  
"Outsiders?"  
  
"I should think you'd unnerstand that, seein' as how you got in and all. When I was weedin' the garden, couldn't believe my eyes when I seen you in front of me."  
  
Mychal had a sudden urge to laugh aloud. "Do you mean to tell me that you are the gardener, and you threatened to attack me with your spade?" What a fool he'd been!  
  
"Hoe, actually. You're inside, so am I. The people that are not are cannibals and monsters, living in the destruction outside."  
  
"I do not understand. You say we are inside, but I do not see anything to be inside of."  
  
"D'you think the air is naturally this clean? 'Course not. We're inside a dome, hence the term 'insider', because we were on the right side when the Americans rebelled against the Triumvirate. They let us live, and we were protected inside here. Those rebels got what was comin' to them, be sure of that. Most of 'em died of radiation, but those that didn't live like animals, outside these walls. They're desperate creatures now, and I think we should wipe 'em off the face of the earth." The gardener's voice was harsh, spoken with cold feeling. He was embittered toward these 'Americans' and did not care if they survived. Were they truly so horrible? Mychal wondered. Worse, what if any of his companions were out there, alone? What would the outsiders do to them?  
  
The clouds overhead were growing lighter, signifying the approach of dawn, if indeed there could be dawn in the murky sky. The Warrior rose, not wishing to be seen someplace where he did not belong as a servant in this estate. The gardener saw what the other man was thinking.  
  
"Follow me, there's a secret entrance to the kitchens this way." The old man was quick, and led Mychal through the dense underbrush to what appeared to be a metal tube big enough for a man to walk in. "Walk 'til you reach the end, and then to the right there will be a dirt tunnel, right under the floor of one of the pantries. Bye now." The gardener whisked away through the foliage, leaving Mychal to traverse the damp tunnel alone.  
  
Taking a deep breath, the Warrior ducked his tall frame and crept carefully through the passage. The air was foul and dank, but he had now found an escape route from the kitchens, should the need ever arise. In his experience it most often did, and he memorized every rock he tripped over as he came to the end. As the gardener had said, there was indeed a dirt tunnel, barely wide enough to admit Mychal, even when he turned sideways. The darkness seemed to grow thicker in front of his face, and roots seemed to ensnare his unsure steps.  
  
Abruptly he came to the end of the narrow passage as his shoulder struck a wall. Feeling cautiously above him, Mychal's fingertips found the ridged surface of the underside of the tiled floor. Pushing gently, the Warrior was relieved to find that the trapdoor swung upward on silent hinges. Yet when it reached the apex and began to fall the other way, it let out a most horrific squeak, louder than a pack of rats. Mychal quickly returned the door to a fully upright position, listening with all his might to see if anyone had heard.  
  
Nothing stirred, and he began to breathe again. Squeezing himself up through the hole, Mychal shut the small door, admiring the way even the hinges blended into the pattern of the tiles. He found himself to be inside the main pantry, next to the large bags of potatoes and onions. His fingers ached at the memory of the day before, and the Warrior wondered it he had time enough to make it back to his room and catch some rest before he was called to work.  
  
Noiselessly he exited the large closet, peering around the darkened and empty kitchen. The cook would probably arrive soon, he'd best be quick. Slipping to the main door of the kitchen, he was just about to pull it open when it swung inward of his own accord.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Quickfingers. Up early and ready to peel some more?" The loud voice of the cook mentally made Mychal wince, but he hid it with practiced ease. "I don't know if the two bags you did yesterday will be enough."  
  
A mischievous grin curled the corners of the Warrior's mouth. "I can double that number today."  
  
The large woman's eyes narrowed. If it was one thing he had learned yesterday, it was that she operated on two things: wagers and hierarchy. The miserable wretch who had been peeling potatoes before Mychal had come along was more than happy to graduate to slicing vegetables, and the cook had bet that her new recruit couldn't even do half the work he had done. Mychal had taken care of that rumor within his first hour.  
  
"What do you want to bet on that, Quickfingers?" she asked, a calculating smile on her face.  
  
"What would you name?" He had nothing of value, unless she needed a longer carving knife. A carving knife with a rather nice hilt.  
  
"You wash dishes tonight, alone. All of them. The Master's having a rather large banquet."  
  
Mychal considered that, then nodded. "Agreed. And if I accomplish my task, you must give me meat for my dog, and grant me the position of and assistant cook." He smirked as her mouth fell open. He could tell she was about to refuse, and added, "Unless you are afraid to challenge 'Quickfingers'."  
  
"You've got a bet!"  
  
[A/N: A cruel place to end it? Hee hee, I don't think so…imagine what sort of trouble Mychal can get into when he's assistant cook…and has no idea how to work a blender. Ooh, the possibilities! Review review review! (Drake, this means YOU.) ( ] 


	16. Love's Lost

Chapter Sixteen: Love's Lost  
  
"Up!"  
  
Araphel opened his eyes immediately at the sound of Flame's voice. The lighting inside the underground chamber had long since faded, but the elf had not bothered to note the passage of time. He had drawn into himself, trying to find a stable center of peace amongst all the destruction. He had never seen anything so sad, so horrifying as the way these Lost Ones lived. The Healer did not understand how they could accept the awful living conditions, the humility of having to eat one's own flesh for lack of food.  
  
The elf shifted marginally against the post where he was still bound securely. He had at first worked at the rope, but did not see the point in pressing for an escape, for he could not leave without Kaylee. It was a near impossible task, for she was not aware enough of her surroundings to see the danger. She did not know the entire story, and was all but blinded by her emotions. Araphel had kept a watchful eye upon the Scout, worrying first and foremost about the blow to her head, though the blood had long since dried.  
  
Kaylee appeared to have suffered no ill effects from her earlier mistreatment, and was now resting quietly in the arms of Sniper, dark lashes contrasting starkly with her pale face. The young man held her protectively, his thoughts roiling in his eyes. He loved her, with all that was inside him he loved her. But he knew that she was not of this world, though they knew and cared for each other. Pain was etched in Sniper's features, pain in knowing that it could not last. Whether it was all a dream or some cruel twist of fate, it would not last.  
  
Dawn must have stolen upon the Lost Ones, for the cavern underground was gradually lightening. Flame roused the others of her group one by one, kicking the lumps on the ground, or spouting some particularly caustic words. Araphel was not sure what he thought of this female. As a leader she commanded the respect she needed to keep herself and her companions alive, but her methods were less than pleasant. The elf could not help but wonder why the others let her treat them so. But then, perhaps these humans needed someone to lead them in these circumstances, to give what hope could be found.  
  
"Come on, you lunkheads. Today we hunt or we raid, your choice. But I'm not going hungry for one more day," Flame said, standing central in the room and glaring each of her companions in the eye.  
  
"Can't we eat him?" Booth jerked a thumb at Araphel. The elf started almost imperceptibly, darting his eyes to Flame's face. He had not thought that he could be mistaken for a human, only to become dinner. But the leader seemed uncertain about Araphel.  
  
"No. He still has some things to tell us, but perhaps Sniper's girlfriend will be more helpful. She seems to know you," the red-haired young woman leered at Araphel, but he held himself straight and proud, unflinching beneath her gaze. "She may be easier to get information out of."  
  
The Healer strained at his bonds with renewed vigor, knowing Kaylee could not stand against the Lost Ones. How much she understood about this place the elf did not know, but it would not be enough to satiate Flame's brutal curiosity. "She knows nothing!" he said defensively.  
  
Flame only laughed coldly. "That's what you would say even if she did." She glanced in the Scout's direction, before picking up her club in one hand.  
  
Kaylee stirred, still sleeping. Sniper adjusted his position, shielding her from Flame. "Leave her alone! Kaylee doesn't know anything. And if you want to try something, you'll have to go through me first!" It was then that the girl in question slowly opened her eyes. She blinked in confusion, her eyes lighting on Sniper's face, as he turned to his leader.  
  
"I never thought you would betray us, Sniper. It's always the quiet ones. You can't protect her from me. There's no telling what she may know, and I intend to find out!" The redhead hissed, eyes narrowing dangerously.  
  
Kaylee looked around warily, her eyes growing wider by degrees. Sleep had helped her to recover from the aftereffects of the drug she'd been injected with, and her expression changed into one of suspicion. "Sniper?" she interrupted. "What are you talking about?"  
  
The young man squeezed her almost reflexively as he answered, "That's me, Kaylee. Nobody here knows my real name, except you."  
  
"Kaylee?" Flame sneered. She stepped nearer, and Araphel tensed where he watched. Sniper tried to hold the Scout back, but she shook him off and stood. At her full height she was quite a few inches taller than the leader of the Lost Ones.  
  
"Yeah, you have a problem with my name, shorty?" Kaylee challenged, ignoring the club in Flame's hand.  
  
Faster than lightning Sniper was on his feet, ready to place himself between his enraged leader and his love. Several other Lost Ones were watching with interest, eager to see a fight.  
  
"What did you call me?" Flame growled low, looking up at Kaylee.  
  
The Scout, so slow it was insulting, bent down to glare her in the eye. "Shor-ty. Are you deaf and stupid?"  
  
Snarling in fury, Flame let swing with her club, right at Kaylee's head, but the other jerked back and danced out of the way. While the redhead's balance was off, she took the opportunity to place her foot behind Flame's leg and shove her so that she fell backwards and landed hard on the stone floor. Her club went rolling away, and Kaylee gave her no chance to retrieve it. The Lost Ones were cheering at the top of their voices, picking out vantage points amidst different heaps of rubble. Araphel worked at his bonds, knowing that Kaylee would not stand a chance against Flame, who had lived most of her life in rough conditions that demanded fighting skills.  
  
"Bryan!" the elf called over the din, using Sniper's given name. Flame struggled to her feet, sizing up her opponent with practiced ease. Kaylee crouched defensively, bouncing on her feet, fists in front of her. The young man stood fixated, unable to take his gaze off the battle. "Bryan!" Araphel shouted again, and this time his head swung around. He took a few uncertain steps towards the elf. "Release me!" Araphel said. "I can stop Kaylee."  
  
Sniper's eyes narrowed. "Why would she listen to you and not me? Is she more than just your friend?" His features turned hard, demanding an explanation.  
  
"You must believe me when I say that she does not know what she does. She does not know even what little I do. Free me and I will stop her, I swear it." The elf's gaze bored into Sniper's. The young man faltered, then nodded slowly. He knelt behind Araphel and dug a knife from his boot, cutting quickly through the ropes.  
  
Nimbly the Healer leapt to his feet, just in time to witness Flame backhand Kaylee, a ring on her finger opening a deep gash along the Scout's cheekbone. The redhead had the upper hand in the fight, but was not herself untouched. She had a bruise developing above her left eye, and there were two sets of scratches, one on her right arm, the other on her neck. Kaylee was not afraid to inflict damage, no matter what her weapons were.  
  
Flame landed another blow squarely to Kaylee's jaw, and the girl's head snapped backward. She fell heavily to the floor, shaking her head as if to clear it. Slowly, much too slowly she tried to get back up, but Flame stepped harshly on her neck. Kaylee choked and gasped for air, gripping the leader's ankle with both hands. She rolled to one side, but her opponent was too fast. Flame dropped to one knee and speared her elbow into Kaylee's stomach.  
  
The Scout doubled over, gasping for air. Araphel darted forward, placing a firm hand on Flame's shoulder and flipping her backwards as if she were nothing more than a child's doll. He ignored the howls from the Lost Ones as he stood over Kaylee. Her green eyes registered his presence, even as they filled with tears of pain.  
  
"There will be no more of this. Warring amongst yourselves will accomplish nothing. Neither I nor Kaylee knows anything of usefulness to you, for we are not of this place. We—" The elf was interrupted by one of the onlookers, Hyatt.  
  
"The heck you don't. Both of you could be insiders, from the way you dress so nice. Just what you're doing here is beyond most of us, but we know you must be hiding something." The youth's tone matched his angry expression.  
  
Jerk jeered, "If you're not 'of this place' then where are you from? Huh?"  
  
Flame broke through all conversation, having recovered from Araphel's sudden move. "I don't care where you say you're from, but right now you're dinner. Both of you. South, Cat, get 'em." Her eyes seemed to match her name. She was breathing heavily, and a sheen of sweat had broken out on her brow. She was not used to being bested, and most definitely not by strangers. Rage burned fierce on her face, and it was clear that she sought revenge.  
  
Sniper started forward. "No!"  
  
"Wait!" the Healer shouted, as the Lost Ones began to converge upon the two strangers. Kaylee was sitting up weakly, and at Araphel's cry she shot to her feet, heedless of her injuries. "I can give you proof!"  
  
The circle of young people faltered. They looked from one to another in uncertainty. Finally, most of them nodded, ignoring a stream of oaths and orders from Flame, who was all but hopping with madness.  
  
Araphel swept his dark hair behind his ears. "I am not a human, I am an elf. I do not come from this world, and neither does Kaylee. We were brought here by powers we do not comprehend, and do not know when we shall depart."  
  
Booth and a few others stepped closer to get a good view of the Healer's pointed ears. "Heh, just like Mr. Spock," one of them joked.  
  
Kaylee's ears pricked up at that. "That's from Star Trek!" she exclaimed. "This is Earth! Araphel, this is my home!" But then she looked around, and her face fell in confusion. "But I don't understand. It wasn't like this. It wasn't when I left. Everything has changed, even the language. I don't understand." She wiped absently at the blood flowing down her cheek, looking at the elf for an explanation.  
  
Sniper came to her side, gazing straight into her eyes. "This is not the Earth you know, Kaylee. There was a war here, World War Three. America lost. We lost our freedom, and were bombed for trying to rise up against the nations that held us captive. That's why there is so much destruction. That's why you don't recognize any of it. This is an alternate reality, I guess."  
  
Kaylee's eyes grew large in her face as realization dawned upon her. "Then what does that make you?"  
  
He reached out and took her hand; she glanced down at it, but didn't move to pull away. "I am not your Bryan. I loved you the same here, but you died. You died three years ago."  
  
A strangled gasp escaped the Scout, and she tried to back away, wrenching her eyes from Sniper's face. "No! That can't be true!"  
  
He caught her face between his hands. "It is. You have to believe me. Look." The young man reached inside his shirt, and pulled out a simple chain, on which was strung a ring. It was simple silver band with a heart on it. Nestled inside the heart was a white gemstone. Kaylee gazed at it, speechless. Her left hand came up, and she slowly removed the same ring from her finger. They were identical in every way.  
  
Araphel broke in quietly, "Now you see that we are telling you the truth. You must help us in finding our friends. There were two others, and we do not know what fate has befallen them. Will you assist us?" He directed the last question at Flame, whose temper had cooled as she watched Sniper and Kaylee.  
  
Finally, she nodded. "But first we have some unfinished business over at Magnum's. Everybody comes. Tonight we'll raid!"  
  
Lusty cheers filled the air, but neither Bryan nor Kaylee seemed to hear it. Their eyes were locked on each other's faces, perhaps memorizing the features, perhaps sharing thoughts without speaking. Araphel knew the ways of love were unfathomable, no matter what barriers tried to block it. He moved towards them, and slowly both turned to look in his direction.  
  
"Come, we must go. Both of you know this cannot last. We must find our way back as soon as possible, Kaylee." The elf charged the Scout with the last statement, for he knew ultimately it was she who he must reach, because Sniper could not accompany them.  
  
Reluctantly the girl nodded. The Healer reached out one hand as if to smooth away the tears that threatened to spill down her face, leaving no trace of the cut she had received behind. Swiftly Araphel healed the most serious of the injuries, as the Lost Ones prepared to attack.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if they would succeed. Not just the Lost Ones, but the four companions. So much stood in the way. Yet it would only serve to make them stronger.  
  
[A/N: Yeah, sounds like a bad place to end it, but I'm tired and wanted to get this up, OK? OK! Good, glad we got all that covered. I think the next chapter'll be on Firar, but I'm not sure. I think it's his turn…] 


	17. In the Chamber

Chapter Seventeen: In the Chamber  
  
Moans barely discernible as his own reached Firar's ears as he slowly dragged himself back from the brink of unconsciousness. Dots of pain in his extremities slowly swelled into waves of agony ripping through him. It did not take him long to realize that it was due to the fact that his skin was barely recognizable beneath scores of little pins stuck in him. He was chained upright, his wrists shackled to a ring in the ceiling above him, his feet barely touching the floor.  
  
"Awake, are we?" The steely voice caused the dwarf to gather whatever scraps remained of his attention and dignity together and force his eyes open. Sevineaux stood before him, the mask that was his face unchanged.  
  
Firar tried to muster the strength to growl a reply, but only a strained whimper managed to break free of his tightly constricted throat.  
  
"Good," the man before him said, folding his hands behind his back and pacing to and fro in front of his prisoner. "You see, I'm rather enjoying having a little fun. I highly doubt anything that you've told me, but torture is still torture, and it's always fun."  
  
A sharp grunt of pain came unbidden to Firar's lips as his captor reached out and experimentally wiggled one of the razor-like tines stuck in his right arm. A tine that was dangerously close to a hastily-bandaged wound. The black smoking weapons.his memories returned to him.  
  
"What.have you done?"  
  
Sevineaux laughed coldly, and shivers raced up Firar's spine. He shivered, shirtless as he was in the cold chamber, but the pain the movement caused made him still quickly.  
  
"It is not what I have done, it is what I will do. These lovely little inventions have been coated with poison. Slow acting, but I'm told it burns like fire. And when it is heated by fire." the man let his sentence trail off ominously.  
  
Firar was not truly afraid. At least, he would not admit to himself that he was, because as soon as he did, he would no longer be able to resist this agony. "I have no fear of you, human." The last word carried the full weight of the slur he meant it to be.  
  
Sevineaux came right up to him and grabbed a fistful of his coal-black beard, jerking his neck at a cruel angle before hissing directly into his face, "That will soon change, rest assured." He stepped back and signaled to someone outside the dwarf's range of vision, accepting some sort of firebrand.  
  
Slowly and methodically Sevineaux began setting each spike aflame. Firar knew not what substance was on the tines, but the instant the fire touched them a fresh wave of pain coursed through him. Steadily the feeling grew until Firar was lost in a maze of red and black pain. Everywhere he turned within himself it was there, and he could not escape. He felt as if he were trapped inside a tiny vault that was growing closer and closer around him, trapping him inside the agony that threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
Shouts and cries that could only have been his dimly filtered to his ears, but soon all senses were lost to him and eventually he knew no more.  
  
Sevineaux examined the limp body of his stunted prisoner. He was not particularly seeking information, but it had been so long since he had enjoyed any sort of sport in the Chamber. The fire-needles had always been one of his favorite devices, and now he was reminded of why. The.thing in front of him looked to be a flaming outline. He tossed his torch into a bucket and waved his hand dismissively at the keeper of the Chamber, who fetched a large pail of water and threw it on the so-called dwarf.  
  
"I have business to attend to, but make this creature's stay here worthwhile, won't you?"  
  
"Yes, m'lord."  
  
"Good man." With that, Sevineaux swept from the room.  
  
He had skills born of his time, fingers swifter than lightening, and technique gained from countless hours of experience. Quickfingers had done it. The mound of potatoes stacked high on his right attested to the fact as he stood up and dusted his hands off.  
  
The gathered kitchen staff had been watching his feverish work ever since lunch had been served. His speed had amazed them, his concentration fazed them. He was unshakable, focused, and darn well-deserving of the bet he had won.  
  
Mychal stood and tossed his potato-peeling knife into a nearby sink. He stretched out some kinks in his back before tossing his hair from his face and grinning in his most annoying manner. "I believe we had a deal?" he addressed the head cook.  
  
She grudgingly nodded, her eyes still alight with disbelieving awe. "We did. Here," she reached behind a large pot and withdrew a small dish with some uneaten meat in it. "Meat for your dog, and tomorrow you shall start as my assistant. Now we get back to it. If there wasn't a banquet tonight, I'd start you now as my help, but there ain't no time with all this watching we've done. All right you louts!" the cook shouted to everyone. "Back to work!"  
  
Mychal smirked to himself in silent satisfaction, taking the dish and hurriedly striding back to his quarters as the workers returned to the busy bustle of the kitchen. He would not be missed for a few moments.  
  
As he rounded a corner, he collided full-tilt with another man. The Warrior immediately stepped aside, realizing his place. "I am sorry, sir. I should have had more regard for where I was going." He studied the slim, shifty-eyed person before him.  
  
"Not a problem. I seem to have gotten myself turned around. Could you tell me where the dining hall is?"  
  
Mychal nodded and pointed him in the right direction, unable to quell the feeling of distrust that built inside of him. He shook his head and continued on his way. The young pup was only too overjoyed to see him, and fell to the food ravenously. The Warrior could not help but laugh as he patted the small animal's head, then looked to his window. Another feeling of remorse and sadness filled him, but he could not let it take over his thoughts. He refused to give up, not until there was sufficient evidence to prove anything to him otherwise.  
  
Swiftly Mychal returned to the kitchen, taking great care to bolt the door of his room behind him, so the puppy would not escape. He was immediately thrown into the hubbub with commands to assist with vegetable preparations. It had been revealed early on that he had no knowledge of many of the contraptions operated, and so menial tasks were best suited to him.  
  
As the hours grew later and the finishing touches were put on the courses to be served, the cook began dismissing the attendants. All knew to stay well out of sight on this evening, for there were serious dealings going on. Guards patrolled the numerous corridors, thoroughly questioning everyone who passed by. Mychal retreated to the solitude of the gardens to be alone. He could still not shake the feeling that something was very wrong.  
  
"It's a trap!" South's voice echoed off the walls, and her shout ended in a near-scream. Araphel turned back to see her be tackled by a masked figure in black. Something metal glinted in the person's hand, and with his keen eyesight, even in the dimness, he discerned it to be a knife. The person stabbed the hard-bitten girl repeatedly, but she did not cry out more than once at the abuse. Her attacker knew where and where not to strike in order to temporarily incapacitate the Lost One.  
  
Araphel wasted no time. Though unarmed, for he was not accustomed in the way of weaponry, his physical prowess was no less than those of the warriors of his people. He set upon the masked figure from behind, wrestling the knife away as he found some easily accessible pressure points.  
  
South lay panting on the ground, her blood pooling beneath her. "Thanks," she whispered, face for one moment soft. Araphel imagined that must have been what she looked like before war had ever touched her. "Nice knowin' ya, Araphel."  
  
"I will not let you die." His quiet statement caused her eyes to flicker open. Gravely the Healer reached out and traced her wounds with his slim fingers, drawing on the meager elements of life around him. With so much destruction it was hard to sense the vitality of the planet, but it yet clung tenaciously to life and growth.  
  
South's injuries disappeared beneath his skilled ministrations and she rose to her feet, her attitude of hardness back in place. Yet the way she regarded him was different, something akin to awe. Without a word she turned away and ran to Hyatt, who was being harassed by three other men at once.  
  
According to Flame, the coup was to have gone without a hitch. Obviously, it was not so. Magnum's forces had been lying in wait, having discovered the Lost Ones' secret entrance to his domain. But their attackers seemed bent on capture, not killing. Already Cat had been subdued and taken. Then Booth followed. Jerk was writhing on the ground, held down by two attackers as they bound his hands behind him. One dealt him a harsh blow that knocked him senseless. The other shouldered his limp form and bore him away.  
  
A choked-off cry came from his left, but Araphel had no chance to see who it came from as something obscured his vision. He turned suddenly as the unknown object twined around his legs, causing him to stumble. He had been ensnared by a crude net, but its purpose had been served. The Healer was taken. His hands were tightly bound behind him, and a rough hand jerked him upright by his collar.  
  
"Eh? Who're you?" one of his captors demanded. "Ye're not a Lost One. Oy, Boyle! This one don't belong!"  
  
Araphel could not see the man he shouted to, but he clearly understood the response: "Doesn't matter. Bring 'im anyway!"  
  
The elf had barely heard the answer before a sharp blow caught him just below the ear, and the last thing that reached him was Kaylee's distant cry of "Araphel!" Then all was silent.  
  
Kaylee had been forced to accompany the Lost Ones on this expedition, for Flame would have none be left behind in their lair. She didn't want to chance the few that would have remained being caught by other Outsiders. Unfortunately, it appeared that the leader's own trap had been sprung on her.  
  
Bryan had been leading her warily, as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight. Kaylee was numb to him; she was not sure what to think. He was not her Bryan, she had to keep reminding herself. They could never be together. She was dead...  
  
It was all so much. So much. Her morbid thoughts had been left behind when several people wearing nothing but black pounced on the sneaking Lost Ones. She saw Jerk and Booth go down...and then Araphel. Her heart cried against it, he was needed! She screamed his name, but he did not hear as he was mercilessly beaten. Then Kaylee had not time of her own to think as something sharp whizzed through the air and stuck her in the leg. The injured limb immediately buckled. Bryan turned back to her in a movement that seemed to be in slow motion. He didn't see the man behind him with a large club in his hand. He didn't turn fast enough.  
  
The sound would resonate in her mind the rest of her life.  
  
Blood trickled down her leg, turning the pure white linen of her dress an ominous crimson. Her breath became short and her vision hazed out of focus. Kaylee foggily came to the conclusion that there had been something on the blade. Something designed to do exactly as it was doing: knocking her out.  
  
At last she surrendered to the creeping sleepiness that seemed to blanket her body, and she fell next to Bryan, blindly reaching for him though they could never reach each other again. 


	18. Reunions

Chapter Eighteen: Reunions  
  
"Araphel? Yo, elf, you awake?" South's voice seemed to throb in time with the ache in his head. Araphel stirred and opened his eyes to find himself shut in a meagerly-lit cell with many of the Lost Ones. He made no sound as inwardly his body protested every movement upon his sitting up.  
  
His nimble fingers sought out the knot on his head, and he concentrated on decreasing its size. Gradually his head cleared and he drew into himself, chilled against the dim surroundings and the lack of nature around him. Slowly he sorted his thoughts until he heard South's question again.  
  
"I am," he replied. "How fare the rest?" He looked around, taking stock of the missing people. His heart seized within him as he counted and came up three short. The most valuable of the group to him. Flame, Kaylee, and Bryan. None were present.  
  
"They took Flame. Kaylee too. Sniper-Bryan-he..." South's voice choked up and she couldn't finish her sentence. "They hit him hard. He's..." she tossed her head, bitter hardness reigniting in her eyes, "he's dead."  
  
A whisper passed the elf's lips as he mourned the young man's passing. Kaylee would need to know, if she did not already. But the Scout...he had to find her. "Where? Where have they been taken?"  
  
South shrugged helplessly. "To Magnum, most like. He's always wanted Flame, and now he's got her. Kaylee looks too much like an insider, that's why he's got her. The rest of us...we're roughed up but okay."  
  
Araphel rose and began testing the walls for a way out, but a groan from Hyatt stopped him. "Don't bother, we've looked. And if Cat can't find a way out, there ain't no way." The young man was curled over his stomach, various bruises and cuts all over him. His shirt was stained in blood, torn in many places.  
  
The Healer knelt beside him, prying the youth's blood-slicked hands away from the stab wound to his stomach. His captors had not been very careful in their attempts to subdue the Lost One. Araphel knew that if he were not here, Hyatt would surely have died a slow and painful death. As it was he was weak, but bravely holding his own, unafraid of whatever happened.  
  
Gently the elf closed the wound, draining his supply of strength. Hyatt watched in amazement as Araphel worked, his face seeming to glow with a light unlike anything he had ever seen. If he had not believed the strange being before, he surely did now. Then Araphel cleaned up the serious cuts and abrasions before sitting back on his heels and regarding Hyatt with calm gray eyes. He was aware of the small crowd of outsiders behind him and he turned to see their mouths hanging open with an expression close to awe on their faces.  
  
"You...you..." Jerk tried, but nothing further could be articulated.  
  
"I am a healer," Araphel finished for him. "And you have a large welt on your head. Sit down."  
  
Jerk was too surprised to argue with the elf as he complied, wide eyes still fixed on Araphel. Quickly the Healer took care of the injuries of the group, but his mind cast ahead to what might happen. Doubtless his efforts would not go unnoticed by Magnum or his guards. What did the man want with them?  
  
Something shrieked along the ceiling, and a trapdoor was pulled upward, flooding harsh light down on the group. "Bring 'em up," a voice commanded. "And don't be nice about it."  
  
Guards dropped through the hole, armed with weapons of some kind. The Lost Ones instinctively clustered together, stances bold and unafraid. They accepted whatever would happen to them and would not let fear control them. Jerk took the lead, South and Hyatt flanking him.  
  
"What do you want?" he demanded, taking the role of leadership naturally. "Where's Flame?"  
  
The guards ignored his questions as they prodded the prisoners upward. One by one they hauled themselves up out of the cell and then were met by more guards and who could only be Magnum. He was a thin man, greasy and weasel- like. But he reeked of confident power.  
  
"Ah, Flame's little helpers. It's time you got what was coming to you." Magnum's speech was interrupted by the nervous clearing of a guard's throat. "What is it?"  
  
"Sir, they's...something's happened to 'em. We beat 'em up pretty good, and there ain't a scratch on 'em now."  
  
The Lost Ones exchanged glances, none of them looking at Araphel, not wishing to give him away. Another man stepped forward.  
  
"I stabbed that one, sir. Right in the gut." He pointed to Hyatt, who straightened defiantly as if daring Magnum to beat the information out of him.  
  
Magnum's beady eyes narrowed. Before any of the young captives could react, he pulled a gun from inside his jacket and fired point-blank at Hyatt. He shot twice more in rapid succession. The young man fell to the floor, blood streaking the rough surface from the wounds in his chest.  
  
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Araphel froze for a brief second, the choice flashing clearly before him. This wasn't his fight, it never had been. But his ethics, the laws by which he had sworn to be a healer still bound him. He could not let Hyatt escape this world so easily. He shouldered his way to the front of the group, kneeling next to the young man.  
  
"Araphel, no. Don't give yourself away. You don't...understand," Hyatt rasped. "He'll take you too, you're valuable." His breathing became harder and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't, I'm not worth it..."  
  
The elf heeded none of his protests as his attention became focused solely on the injuries. Slowly he extracted the offending projectiles in the manner he would have an arrowhead. Magnum and his underlings backed away as they watched Araphel close the bleeding wounds, the blood disappearing back into the wound which it had come from.  
  
"What are you?" Magnum asked, weapon trained on the Healer.  
  
Araphel rose to his feet, helping Hyatt up with him. The elf nearly stumbled with weariness, but he concealed it to the best of his ability. "I am an elf." He locked eyes with the man, who seemed to cower beneath his strong gaze.  
  
Magnum silently formed the word 'elf' with his mouth, obviously not quite sure if he should believe Araphel or even his own eyes. He shook off his apprehension and decided to finish addressing Flame's ragtag group of youngsters that had been a thorn in his side for so long. "Flame is no longer your leader. You will join my gang or you will supply my table with food. The choice is quite simple. I don't keep prisoners."  
  
"We belong to Flame! What have you done to her?" Jerk yelled, fire burning in his eyes. "You'll get nothing out of us unless you tell us where she is!"  
  
Magnum laughed once. "So loyal. Fine then, you may have your leader. She's already agreed to serve me."  
  
"We'll believe that when we see it," South asserted, earning agreeing mutters from the Lost Ones.  
  
Magnum nodded to a couple of his guards, who disappeared out of the room only to reappear with a silent Flame between them. Her eyes smoldered as she looked at Magnum, but her relief upon seeing her gang unharmed was apparent. Likewise, the Lost Ones tension eased just a little when they saw her.  
  
"Tell them, Flame," Magnum's tone dripped with sarcasm, "what you've agreed to do."  
  
She threw him a glare full of loathing but did not contradict him. "We're going to help Magnum take down one of the Insiders."  
  
Eyebrows shot up in surprise and jaws dropped open. The Lost Ones exchanged uncertain glances. Outsiders uniting? It was an unconsidered thought. But it was not something to be passed upon lightly.  
  
"Cobra's already infiltrated the place. We're working for a man called Sevineaux. He's agreed that if we help him pull off this attack, we can have a place inside." Magnum's hard eyes searched them all.  
  
"I won't do it." South stepped forward. "You've killed Sniper, and now you want us to betray our country? No! We fought them in the beginning, and I will continue to fight!" She turned to her fellow gang members. "Don't you see?" she implored. "All we fought for in the beginning, we'd just be going back on it now. I never want to live inside if it means being like them. I'm an American. I'll never forget what that word meant, what it still means!"  
  
Magnum stepped forward and slapped her sharply. South didn't flinch. All reaction to such things had long left her. "Stupid girl. America's dead. We brought this on ourselves. And if you want something to change, why not get back at the Insiders by infiltrating them? Hmm?" He glanced around at everyone.  
  
South shook her head. Cat and Hyatt mimicked her. "No way."  
  
"What if I told you that the Triumvirate was involved?" Magnum's voice was slick with calculated cunning.  
  
Even Flame's head turned at that news. "You didn't mention them!" she hissed.  
  
The man before her laughed coldly. "Yes, they'll be there when we go. Here's the chance any of you have always dreamed of: to get back at those who initially betrayed our country. I knew about Sniper, he was a Navy man. Would he miss this chance to strike at them? No. This is your only opportunity. Will you take it?"  
  
Flame eyed her gang, gauging their thoughts before nodding firmly. "We'll do it."  
  
"Wait!" Araphel, all but forgotten, stepped forward. "Where's Kaylee? What have you done with her?"  
  
Magnum rocked back as he looked at the elf, wary of him and the power he undoubtedly wielded. At a subtle gesture two guards came forward, one uncoiling a rope to bind his hands with. The elf immediately backed away and assumed a defensive stance. A brief thought flashed through his mind, and he seized upon it.  
  
"If you touch me, I shall kill you and your men where they stand." Araphel knew he possessed no such power, but he was gambling on the hope that they did not know that.  
  
Magnum's hand came up again, and his men froze. He looked unsure, but he was not willing to chance anything. "What do you want, elf?" he asked.  
  
Araphel sensed that, for the moment, he held the upper hand. The Lost Ones were gazing at him, half in fearful astonishment, half askance. "I will go with you willingly if you release Kaylee. Release her to Flame. Surely I am of more value to you."  
  
Magnum did not pause to think twice. "Agreed. Tie him up." Araphel did not resist as the guards hurried to obey their leader. Another fetched a bound and gagged Scout, whose eyes were wide and frightened. The Healer noted the large bloodstain on her white elven dress, but had no time to consider her wound. He was blindfolded and led away.  
  
Kaylee was unceremoniously shoved to the Lost Ones. Booth freed her hands and she ripped her gag off. "What are you going to do with him?"  
  
Magnum smirked, his confidence back now that the elf was taken care of. "It's none of your business. You will fight for me."  
  
"Never." Kaylee's eyes narrowed to mere slits. "You killed Bryan. I will never help you." Her grief was a twisting pain inside of her, dulled only by the situation she found herself in. Had she the opportunity, she'd be pouring her soul out with tears, but she would not allow this man the satisfaction of the pain he had caused her.  
  
"You will, or I'll have the elf killed." Magnum was in no mood to continue with stipulations. They had a schedule to meet. "His life hangs on what you do, so listen to me and listen well. Shortly you will be dressed and armed as Triumvirate guards. Sevineaux has arranged for us to get inside. He'll tell you what to do from there."  
  
Grimly the Lost Ones were marched to a damp room that smelled of must and mold. They were ordered to don dark uniforms, then handed a machine gun. Kaylee could hardly lift hers, and a sickening feeling filled her when she realized that she was fully expected to use it to kill other humans. Araphel...she had to do it for him. Never had she felt so helpless. She and South exchanged solemn glances, both unwilling to admit that neither liked what they were going to do.  
  
"Move out!" A guard commanded, and they were off in a maze of passages. Kaylee could not track their course, but before she knew it the group had emerged aboveground. The large curve of a dome rose in front of them, and their leader cast furtive glances about before darting to a door. He was admitted quickly, and all followed him.  
  
Fresh air reached Kaylee's nose, and she inhaled gratefully. She could almost feel her lungs being cleansed from the foul air of outside. There was lush vegetation all around her, and the entire place seemed to vibrate with life. This was how her planet should have been... She quashed the despair inside her, shifting her weapon to her other hand. Her leg ached, though it had been stitched up and bandaged. The Scout could only hope that her actions would not rip the injury open again.  
  
Magnum's men and the Lost Ones came to Sevineaux's fortress. That was all Kaylee could describe it as, for castles and mansions each possessed an innate sort of beauty. The edifice before her was cold and ugly, inviting no warmth. They were herded inside, and Kaylee noted with detached interest that all moved with a new sort of respect. Few of these people had ever seen a building still intact, and the thought saddened her. They would never know their world again as she knew it.  
  
They came to a large hall to find Magnum standing next to a tall man. Sevineaux, Kaylee presumed. He had an imperious manner and a cruel face. Araphel was nowhere in sight. She felt her heart sink, how would she ever find him in this place? Was he even here?  
  
"Outsiders, you have been brought here to help me attack the Committee. Moreover, the Triumvirate. I expect you to serve me well, and if you do, you will be rewarded. Fail me, and I will see each of you come to a painful and torturous end. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
There was no sound as all nodded. Kaylee mechanically forced herself to do the same. Oh Araphel, she lamented.  
  
"You will act as guards in the Committee's home. Do not attract undue attention to yourselves. You will be alerted upon an outbreak of gunfire to invade the dining hall. Kill any who dare to oppose you. When you have succeeded, I will be there to keep things in hand. You will await my orders. Is that understood?"  
  
Again the bobbing of heads. Sevineaux appeared pleased with himself as he turned and disappeared.  
  
Magnum took charge then. "Let's go. It's time to take our places among the guard."  
  
Kaylee had no choice but to obey.  
  
"Firar! Firar, answer me!"  
  
The dwarf did not want to leave his semi-conscious state, for there was no pain there. He knew once he came back to waking he would be struck with agony, and all there would be was Sevineaux, ready to inflict more.  
  
"Master Dwarf, I fear that if you do not awaken, I shall be forced to tell Kaylee that you cannot hold your drink."  
  
That most certainly is not Sevineaux, he thought to himself, mustering his strength. Firar struggled to consciousness, steeling himself. When no pain assailed him, he chanced to open his eyes.  
  
"Araphel! By my father's hammer! What are you doing here?" the dwarf demanded. "Have you been captured as well?"  
  
"Aye, you might say that, my friend. I traded my freedom for Kaylee's." The elf rocked back.  
  
That was a wonderful piece of news. "Then she is all right? She lives? Where is she?"  
  
Araphel let loose a small chuckle. "Calm down, Firar. I have only just finished healing you, do not strain yourself, or me for that matter. I have not done this much healing in a very long time." He settled himself on the floor. "How fare your arms?"  
  
Firar realized that he could feel them again. His fingers as well. "Fine. Tell me of Kaylee. What of her?"  
  
The elf shook his head sadly. "I fear that it would not be wise to tell you. This is a different version of Kaylee's world, where one decision of the past caused everything she knew to be different. She is with a group of people that should take care of her. Rest assured, I am sure that we will find her again." Then, before Firar could demand anymore from his meager explanation, he asked, "Do you have any news of Mychal?"  
  
"No, I was hoping that you would. I have seen neither head nor hide of him since your world." Firar fell silent for a moment. "I have not had the best experience myself. I hope he is well."  
  
"I have no doubt of that. Mychal seems able to fend for himself." Araphel summoned his strength and reached for a tine that he had pulled from the dwarf. "Let us see if we cannot free you from these chains, my friend. Then we shall worry of the others."  
  
Kaylee had been assigned to patrol a hallway. One of Magnum's men was in watching distance, however. There would be little chance of her making an escape without costing Araphel his life. Dusk had come awhile ago, though there was no sunset to announce it through the thick nuclear clouds that still blanketed the sky. She paced nervously back and forth, keeping her mind away from Bryan. The weight of her firearm assisted in that regard.  
  
The signal, the signal. Her stomach turned within her. She could not do this, she couldn't! She had never killed anything before. Kaylee knew she couldn't start now. But Araphel...  
  
And then it was time. The gunshots sounded. Magnum's guard dashed past her, clearly thinking she would follow. And she did. The palace was quickly in an uproar, guards, real or disguised, were running back and forth. A firefight broke out ahead of her, and Kaylee dove into a side passage to avoid being caught in it.  
  
Clattering feet alerted her to someone in the passage with her. Someone that should not be. Against her will, Kaylee raised her weapon. She saw a figure ahead of her and cried, "Freeze!"  
  
The broad-shouldered man did a she commanded. He appeared to be nothing more than a butler or other kind of servant from behind, but she would not take that chance.  
  
"Don't turn around." It was all the Scout could do to keep her voice steady. She did not want to shoot him, but could she chance letting him go alive? If she did, would he turn and kill her? What is your duty to Araphel? she asked herself. She didn't know! But it went against everything she was to commit murder.  
  
Her knees weakened, and she let the gun clatter to the tiled floor. Kaylee fell beside it, sobbing. She did not see the man turn to look back at her huddled form. "I've killed him. I'm sorry Araphel, I'm sorry..." she whispered brokenly. "I've failed..."  
  
"Kaylee?" Strong hands touched her shoulders, but she was oblivious to it. She would likely herself be killed for her failure. Just like Bryan.  
  
"I've killed them both..." Kaylee hunched over her knees, burying her face in her hands and weeping.  
  
"Ssh, young one. It's all right," a voice whispered. Firm hands pried her from her bent position and embraced her against a warm body. For the first time since leaving her world Kaylee felt comforted, and she let her dam of grief break. She cried until there were no tears left. At last she dared to stir and discern the identity of her comforter and captor.  
  
Mychal continued to hold the shaking Scout, thankful to God above that she was alive. He knelt on the floor, the girl in his arms, oblivious to the fighting around them, though each second screamed at him to flee.  
  
"Mychal?" her incredulous voice interrupted his thoughts. The Warrior read the mixture of disbelief and happiness on her face. He smiled lightly. "Mychal!" Kaylee gathered herself together and hugged him fiercely. "You're alive!"  
  
"Yes I am. And so are you, much to my surprise. Come, we cannot linger here." Mychael pulled the girl to her feet and led her swiftly to his quarters. He strapped his sword on as Kaylee rapidly explained what had happened, blinking hard and clearing her throat in some places.  
  
"So Araphel is still in the grasp of this Sevineaux? Can you lead me back to his fortress?" Mychal hunted until he found the puppy cowering beneath the bed at all the noise, whimpering pathetically. He briskly tucked the animal beneath his arm, awaiting Kaylee's response.  
  
She nodded. "Yes. If we're not too late. I don't know what they've done with him. Magnum threatened to kill him if I didn't do my duty. And I didn't. His blood will be on my head."  
  
Mychal gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look him in the eye. "Not if we act quickly. The less time we waste the better. Let's go." Kaylee hesitated, obviously wanting to blame herself. At long last she nodded.  
  
"This way."  
  
"You have never had much experience with locks, have you?"  
  
Araphel gritted his teeth against a harsh response. It felt as if he had been working on Firar's bonds for hours. The dwarf's helpful comments had not made the situation any better. It was true, there was no need of locks in Araphel's world, for elves were honest.  
  
"Try turning it to the left," Firar suggested.  
  
"Master Dwarf, I am working as fast as I can. Perhaps if I had a key or some other thing with which to pick, you would be free faster," the elf replied testily.  
  
"Well, if you could find my tunic, there is an instrument just for that purpose in it."  
  
Araphel had seen the discarded garment the instant he had entered the cell, but had thought nothing of it until now, for quite obviously the dwarf could not put it on, chained as he was. Firar blinked suddenly as the elf's irritated face appeared inches from his own.  
  
"And why didn't you mention this sooner?" he demanded icily.  
  
"I did not think of it," Firar replied as innocently as possible, considering the fact that Araphel looked ready to flay him alive. Grumbling some indiscernible words beneath his breath, the Healer stalked beyond his view and returned with a small tool in hand.  
  
After a few minutes of impatient tinkering the lock sprang open, and Araphel unlatched Firar. The dwarf allowed the elf to inspect his raw wrists before pulling his tunic back on and putting his beard back into some semblance of order. It was pure luck that they had not been discovered. But the guard had long since disappeared, for it appeared that he had not had a very high opinion of their chances of escape. Firar had no trouble with the chamber's locking mechanism, and soon they were on their way, after retrieving the dwarf's weapons and other knickknacks. The hallways and corridors of the mansion seemed deserted, and the two had little problems with finding their way outside. The dark sky was just beginning to lighten with the promise of coming day. But Kaylee and Mychal remained missing. There was little happiness to brighten the morning.  
  
"We're almost there!" Kaylee was limping badly, and she could feel the heat of her own blood oozing from her wound. But they could not give up. It was by the skin of their teeth that they had escaped the Committee's establishment, for the place had been in chaos. Mychal was careful not to lose her as they approached the fortress that belonged to Sevineaux.  
  
The Warrior's heart began to sink. The edifice was enormous, how would they ever search it in time?  
  
Unsure of what to expect, Mychal handed the small dog to Kaylee with instructions to stay out of sight while he went to scout out the opposition. He had just darted away when he heard the Scout cry out.  
  
Fear filled him as he turned on his heel and dashed back the way he had come. He rounded a stand of concealing shrubbery, sword drawn, ready to take out any and all foes. His blade fell to the ground forgotten as a stocky body barreled into him.  
  
"Mychal!"  
  
"Firar!"  
  
And then the world around them dissolved. 


	19. Home Again?

Chapter Nineteen: Home Again?  
  
"Mychal, darn you, pumme down!" Kaylee demanded, beating her fists ineffectually against the Warrior's broad back. "I can walk! Put! Me! Down!" Her face was red from yelling and hanging upside-down over Mychal's shoulder.  
  
Araphel, ignoring the highly indignant Scout, calmly said, "Pay her no heed. It is best that she not walk on that leg until I have a chance to tend to it." He walked beside Mychal, taking no note of Kaylee's struggles.  
  
"Were we not on this road at night, I would consider stopping, but bandits and wolves roam these plains freely. We will not be safe until we reach the next village, and we cannot allow Kaylee," he emphasized her name so she would hear him, "to slow us down."  
  
Her huffing voice floated to him, constricted due to Mychal's shoulder in her stomach. "I was not slowing us down. I was gimping, that's all. And I think I have a right to, seeing as how I got a knife in the leg!" As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she'd not said them. Araphel halted and looked hard at her.  
  
"And why have you not mentioned this?"  
  
"It's not a big deal! It's been seen to, all right?" Kaylee was fast beginning to feel sick to her stomach from Mychal's stride.  
  
Firar finally spoke up, far too amused to interrupt, but his tone was serious. "Until you push yourself too far as you did when the Fades attacked? We will not have it! I suggest you hush and put up with your beast of burden."  
  
An explosive snicker escaped the Scout and Mychal stiffened. "I would watch my words if I were you, Firar," he growled in mock-anger.  
  
"I will be glad to relieve you of her should she become too heavy," Araphel said lightly, enjoying the freeing camaraderie of Mychal and Firar's world. This was more like what he had initially pictured different worlds as being.  
  
Kaylee squawked in wordless protest until her cry was choked off by Mychal's tripping over a rock, his shoulder jolting her midsection sharply. The air went out of her, and at last the Scout conceded, "If you'll find some other way of carrying me, I promise that I'll let you, but I'm going to have cracked ribs if this continues." She grimaced as her voice strained and broke over her hitching breath.  
  
Mychal at last acceded to her wishes, though he found his new method of carrying much more unwieldy than he preferred. After all, the Scout was much larger than a child, which would have been the right size to be carried in front, arms around his neck. And he somewhat feared that in a fit of revenge Kaylee might tighten her hold and choke him.  
  
Presently Araphel called out from ahead, "I see the torches of a town gate ahead. It is but a quarter of a league off. Let us hurry!"  
  
He did not have to tell any of them twice. The night was clear and soon the rest of the group spied the lights as well. Their pace quickened and as they drew nearer the gates, Kaylee finally put up a struggle.  
  
"All right, I want to walk into this city under my own power!" She began to push against Mychal, but he only tightened his hold and set his jaw firmly.  
  
When the Scout dealt him a blow that nearly caused him to drop her, he abandoned all semblance of carrying her comfortably and slung her over his shoulder again, much to the girl's displeasure. "Mychal, if you don't put me down this minute-"  
  
The guards at the gate stared with open mouths at the four travelers that approached them. "Halt! What are you doing with the lady?" One demanded, half-lowering his spear at them.  
  
Firar and Mychal both opened their mouths to respond, but Kaylee got to it first. "Holding me against my wishes, that's what!"  
  
The second guard also brought his spear to bear at the men. "Let her go, bandits. We will not tolerate kidnapping here, nor will we turn a blind eye to a maiden's distress." He whistled long and loud, and immediately half a dozen other guards poured from a nearby tower, arms ready.  
  
"No, you misunderstand. Kaylee belongs with us. Her leg is hurt, and she cannot walk well. She will tell you as much." Araphel looked to the upside-down Scout expectantly. His heart sank as he saw the vengeful smile on Kaylee's features. Firar saw her as well, and his mouth partially opened to warn her not to do anything foolish, but-  
  
"I think not. I demand to be saved from these ruffians at once! I beg of you, good sirs, to get me away from them."  
  
"Kaylee-!" Mychal shouted in boiling anger, his features contorted fearsomely. The soldiers wasted no time in disarming the dwarf and the man. Araphel carried no weapons, but was trussed securely anyway.  
  
"When we get our hands on you, girl.!" Firar threatened as his mace and other extraneous weapons were wrestled away from him and he was bound without ceremony.  
  
Her smirk said everything quite loudly. She was rapidly lifted down from the Warrior's shoulder and herded behind a tall guard who blocked any path to her with his spear. Kaylee ignored all death-glares and threats in her direction with a satisfactory smile firmly on her face.  
  
As soon as the three men had been subdued, the apparent captain of the guard approached Kaylee and asked, "What would you have us do to them, lady?"  
  
That gave the Scout pause. What would she do with them? "Do as you see fit, Captain. I wish only to find a good place to sleep and perhaps a hot meal. I have had enough of a shock for today."  
  
The captain turned stiffly and commanded his men, "Take them to the prison. We will bring them before the judge in the morning. As of now, they are charged with kidnapping of a young woman from her family and resisting arrest."  
  
Mychal, who had been fuming silently to himself as his killing stares were going unseen by the Scout, opened his mouth and protested, "We did not resist, though by all means we had every right to! I protest-"  
  
"Silence! You are in no position to protest, kidnapper. Be grateful we do not deal justice without a trial, else you would be dead," the captain snarled. He waved his hand and the soldiers marched the three men away down the darkened street. Then he turned to Kaylee and bestowed a smile. "I will show you to an inn, Lady. The mistress will take good care of you until you can be returned to your family. Where do you hail from?"  
  
Kaylee's thoughts froze up for a moment, and she shivered in her white dress as the chilling night air whistled through the gate. "Gerinhall," she at last said, racking her brain for the name of any town.  
  
"Come, Lady. This wind does nothing for you, and I see that you are wounded. The inn is not far," he reassured her, dismissing the remaining guards to their posts. Then, seizing a small lantern from inside the guardhouse, the captain guided the Scout up the street.  
  
Two guttering torches illuminated a doorway beneath a sign that read, "The Whistling Boar" and jovial laughter spilled forth from the portal. The sound of it immediately brought a grin to Kaylee's face as she paused on the step and thanked the captain. He bowed to her. "I am pleased to be of service, milady. I will come for you in the morning when the trial begins, for your testimony shall be required, but likely they will all hang for their deeds. Good eve, milady," he said and strode away.  
  
Kaylee's smile slipped right off her face and shattered into a million fractured thoughts. What had she done? Hanged? Great, how was she going to fix this mistake?"  
  
"Well, who do we have here?" a thundering voice startled the Scout back to the present. A large buxom woman loomed over her, quite a feat since Kaylee was rather tall.  
  
"The captain of the guard sent me," was all she was permitted to say before she was whisked into a warm room filled with celebratory patrons all laughing and stamping their feet to a tune that had just been struck up by a small band of musicians.  
  
"Why of course he did. Wonderful. You look as if you could use some hot food and an equally hot bath," the inn-mistress said, plunking Kaylee down in a chair and placing a steaming bowl of some kind of stew before her. "Eat up while I go heat some water."  
  
Kaylee gratefully complied, but her thought came back to plague her. They wouldn't really hang her friends, would they? No, of course not. They were going to give them a trial, and all she had to do was either say she had lied about the whole thing, or concoct a weak claim against them. With some of her anxiety eased, the Scout devoured her food and sat listening appreciatively to the musicians.  
  
Their tune was lively, and one of the men at a table near the front sprang to his feet and caught a serving maid up in a vivacious dance. They whirled and spun, clapped and stomped to the beat. Soon all the tables were being shoved aside, and all the customers were snagging all the women in sight.  
  
Kaylee was seized by a handsome young man with reddish hair and laughing gray eyes who pulled her into a wild foot-tangling dance that caused her wounded leg to loudly protest. Yet she chose to ignore it as the young man twirled her around and around. It did not matter that she couldn't dance they way they could, for nobody moved in quite the same way. It was only when the innkeeper came and fetched her from the clapping and spinning couples that she took any note of her surroundings. Her dance partner winked roguishly at her as she was led away.  
  
A pang of sorrow tugged at her heart at the remembrance of Bryan. Yet he was not hers, she must remind herself of that. Her Bryan was safe and sound, and she would see him again.  
  
"My name's Marni, but call me Mar. Shorter and easier to yell over all the gabble that goes on around here. So you're another that my dear captain has rescued? Pray tell what happened?"  
  
Kaylee hesitated as she limped gingerly up some stairs and into a room where a steaming tub of water was waiting. She decided the truth was best. "Oh, there was a slight misunderstanding between my male companions and I. They are spending the night in jail because of it."  
  
Marni chuckled explosively. "The captain has a misplaced heart of gold. Simply explain the situation to him tomorrow and everything shall work out. Now out of that filthy dress! Were you playing in mud with your companions?"  
  
The blood on the white gown had dried into a ruddy brown color. "There was a small.accident," Kaylee hedged. Shoving aside her trepidation about her privacy, she stripped down and hopped in the water as quickly as she could. The water was foamy and relaxing and Kaylee felt all her tenseness wash out of her. She sighed in ecstatic pleasure, ignoring the stinging pain in her leg. She could not remember the last time she had been able to bathe. It seemed an eternity since she had left her world, only to go to Araphel's and then back to some twisted version of her own.  
  
Marni scrubbed her down, chattering about things going on in the town. She was like a great mother hen to any and all that came through her door, clucking and fussing when she saw the crude stitching performed by Magnum's "doctor". "Well, if we can find one sober enough, I'll get a healer for you." At Kaylee's reassurance and insistence she bound the wound with a clean cloth before helping her slip into a large nightgown. Then the inn- mistress dried her hair and showed her to a small room with a comfortable cot.  
  
"Thank you, Marni," the Scout said quietly, running one hand through her damp hair. "You are a wonderful person. I hope to repay you someday."  
  
The other woman waved a hand, brushing aside the compliment. "It's nothing. Now into bed with you, for the captain I am sure will be here early to fetch you for the trial."  
  
The Scout would have mumbled another thank-you, but she was fast asleep before her head even touched her pillow. Marni tucked the girl in and shuttered the lantern to a dim glow before exiting. 


	20. The Night Behind Bars

Chapter Twenty: The Night Behind Bars  
  
"If I ever get my hands on her, I'll wring the breath from her lungs! I do not care if she has been wounded, I shall kill her where she stands!" That was, to say the very least, the tamest of the vows that Firar had been making all evening.  
  
Araphel sat calmly in a corner, the pup that had been tailing them all the way to the city snuggled beside him. Whenever the Dwarf shouted an especially fierce insult, the animal would whimper and huddle closer to the Elf.  
  
Between Firar's mad pacing back and forth in the small confines and the under-the-breath mutterings of Mychal in the next cell, Araphel was having an entertaining evening. The Warrior was sitting in a shadowed corner, for there was little light afforded in the small prison. As it was, the three took up half the cells, but Mychal had the privilege of his own because of his direct handling of Kaylee.  
  
As for Araphel's thoughts on the matter, he was slightly put out at the girl, but as a naturally peaceful being, he was not about to concoct any death threats. Well, not many at the very least. He knew that come morning, the entire matter would be resolved come the trial.  
  
However, at that moment Araphel was growing weary of Firar's unceasing movement. "Master Dwarf, if you do not stop that this instant, I shall set this dog on you," he said mildly.  
  
The Dwarf whirled madly on his cellmate. "Hah! I would like to see that whelp do any such thing besides cower in that corner. And were I not so agitated over our fate, I would not be pacing so."  
  
Almost laconically, for he was unused to this culture, Araphel replied, "Why worry? All shall be told at the trial tomorrow."  
  
A dead silence broken by the chirping of crickets outside the jail met his keen ears.  
  
"You are not from around here, are you?" Mychal asked in a tone so dry he may as well have been in a desert during a drought.  
  
The Elf shot the Warrior an unseen look of coldness. "Most certainly not. Why would you ask such a pointless question?"  
  
It was then that Firar chose to plop heavily on the cell's only excuse for a bed. "There will be no trial, or at the very least, an unjust one. On our world, at least the great part of it that I have seen, justice is quick and swift."  
  
Again the crickets took their cue in the silence that followed.  
  
"So," the Healer dared shatter the moment, "what will that entail for us?"  
  
"The gallows. We'll be hanged come sunrise." Mychal's voice was surprisingly devoid of irony. Araphel had a sneaking suspicion that he knew why.  
  
"I take it you have been in this sort of situation before?" he guessed in an unsurprised tone.  
  
"Well . . ." Mychal hedged.  
  
"Perhaps once or twice," Firar finished. "Usually we can find ways around it. Bribery, witness credibility, other such things. But in this town taking advantage of a woman may as well be murder. We'll be very lucky to escape this one."  
  
Mychal had taken to muttering again, Araphel noticed. He was beginning to think that perhaps the Warrior possessed some kind of mental incapacity that rendered him susceptible to talking in tongues to the unseen. Unless he missed his guess (and Araphel rarely did) he'd almost say that the man was talking with himself. An unsettling thought, in the Elf's opinion.  
  
"Well," he at last said in an airy tone, "this prisoner is going to take his last rest. If you will excuse me." And Araphel crossed his arms, lowered his head, and dropped immediately off to sleep.  
  
However, he did hear Firar say dimly, "There's something unsettling about that Elf, in my opinion."  
  
I would say the same of you, Master Dwarf.  
  
Of all the stupid, un-brained things to do. Firar fumed. He wasn't even sure if 'un-brained' was a word, but he was not particularly interested in proper grammar at the moment. He had always heard of the term "seeing red" but had never quite achieved such a bright hue of it before now. He'd never been in so tight a scrape before, and it maddened him. Firar always had an escape route, something he could do to get out.  
  
The inhabitants of the town, especially the ones that had constructed the cells, had left no room for his cunningly concealed locksmith tools. The doors were thick, with a single tiny window to high for the Dwarf to see out of near the top. He had thought about attempting to saw through the heavy bolt, but the door fit into the jamb so well that it was impossible to get anything thicker than half a hair into the crack.  
  
This did not bode well.  
  
Mychal had been strangely silent for the past half hour, and Araphel's unnerving habit of sleeping with his eyes half-open was beginning to grate upon the Dwarf's nerves. He hated the inactivity! He should be doing something in the direction of escaping. Out of desperation, he began to strike his head against the wall, creating an interesting ringing sound within his helmet. Mychal had always said Firar had had a hard head, and now was as good a time as any to put that theory to the test.  
  
Thunk! Thunk!  
  
It was strangely comforting, somehow.  
  
Thunk! Thun-crk!  
  
Well, that was different. Firar raised his head, shook it a bit to clear the dancing spots away, and looked in surprise at the large splintered indentation he had created with his head. Small insects had weakened the wood, and Firar spared one moment to thank the Creator for making the little devils, though under any other circumstances he would likely have cursed their existence.  
  
Encouraged, the Dwarf drew back and let the wall have it with both fists, heedless of the ruckus it caused. After the second or third blow fell, Araphel at last looked up, an irritated scowl on his face.  
  
"What are you doing?" he demanded a trifle groggily. "Cannot a poor soul with every intention of being hanged come dawn get some sleep?"  
  
"For your enlightenment," Firar growled, flinging chunks of broken wood right and left, "I am ensuring that none of our necks are lost to the overzealous noose. Now either help me or be quiet!"  
  
Araphel cast his eyes toward the ceiling in silent supplication before rising to join in Firar's efforts. Together they managed to create a sizeable hole, large enough for Araphel to slither through. The elf listened for any sign that they had disturbed the peace before unbolting both cells and gathering up the puppy.  
  
"Mychal, get your vengeful hide off that floor and let us find the Scout. Then let us be rid of this place." Firar prodded his friend to his feet with a kick to the man's leg.  
  
"Firar, might I see your lock picking tool for a moment?" The Keeper started at Araphel's request, but handed the small instrument over anyway. The elf immediately set about opening the lock that securely latched the group's weapons in a large trunk. "I begin to like this lock-picking the more I do it," Araphel explained as he eased the lid of the chest up.  
  
"It appears I am converting him, Mychal. What do you think? I could make him my apprentice." Firar eyed Araphel appraisingly. "I've always wanted an apprentice . . ."  
  
Mychal rolled his eyes as he strapped on his sword. "Not again. Firar, you leave Araphel to perform his healing arts. Do not trouble him with the intricacies of being a Keeper. It is bad enough he doesn't fight."  
  
An instant later Mychal was attempting to unpin his shirtsleeve from the knife Araphel had thrown with deadly accuracy into the wall behind him.  
  
"You were saying?" the elf asked, raising an eyebrow. When no apparent answer from the semi-stunned human was forthcoming, Araphel explained, "It is true that I do not know the ways of war. But it in no way implies that I cannot defend myself. There are certain weapons I would like to master, yes. Yet my hand-to-hand skills you will find are hardly lacking."  
  
"I shall remember that," Mychal said ruefully, handing a still-recovering Firar his knife. "Now then, shall we proceed in the tracking of our dear Scout, to whom we owe so much revenge and torment?" He seized his bag.  
  
"Aye!" Firar said enthusiastically. A bit too enthusiastically. He finished concealing the numerous tools and things the guards had found and confiscated.  
  
"Lead on," Araphel agreed, shouldering a forgotten pack.  
  
Together the three crept stealthily out into the night, bypassing a snoring guard who had not heard a single sound of their escape, such as it had been. They snuck up and down streets and alleys, searching for the likeliest place for Kaylee to be. There had to be no fewer than seven inns, and it would take far too long to search them all. At last Mychal concocted a plan.  
  
"Me? Why must I pretend to be her father?" Araphel protested as Mychal whipped his dark cloak out of his pack and presented it to the elf.  
  
"Because quite clearly, Firar is far too short, and I am not sure I could contain my anger when I find her," the Warrior replied, relieving the elf of the puppy.  
  
"Not to mention he is far too scruffy and looks too much like a vagabond to be trusted," the dwarf added, earning himself a glare.  
  
Araphel at last sighed and clasped the cloak about his shoulders, pulling up the hood to hide his ears. "Very well," he acquiesced. "But if I am caught, you had best find a way to rescue me."  
  
His companions waved him off, melting back into the shadows of a rickety overhang. The elf disappeared inside the inn, reemerging a few moments later. The negative shake of his head told his invisible companions the report. They moved to the next inn.  
  
"Kaylee, you say?" said the owner of the fourth establishment over the lively tune of a band of musicians. "Brown hair, white dress, right? Rather tall but skinny as a willow whip? Yes, she's in one of the rooms upstairs."  
  
Araphel looked relieved, and he was. He had begun to think that everyone would deny him any information on his quarry, for sake of protecting Kaylee. "I am her father, she was said to have been abducted. Is she all right, can you take me to her?"  
  
The woman eyes him suspiciously. "She told me that she had a misunderstanding with a few of her male companions. You wouldn't happen to be one of them, would you?"  
  
Araphel outwardly kept his composure calm, but inside he desperately cast about for an answer. "No, madam, I assure you I am not. The companions she spoke of would have been my servants, with whom she does not always get along. No doubt she regrets their incarceration, which is another matter I must look into tonight."  
  
The inn-mistress rocked back behind her counter, studying him once more. "All right, I'll take you to her. But she'd better confirm your story or I'll have you thrown out on your ear, you understand?"  
  
The elf merely nodded, hoping that he could get Kaylee to at least be reasonable this time around. He followed the woman upstairs, to the door of a room. She opened it quietly, and Araphel's keen eyes easily picked out the sleeping form of the Scout on the room's only bed. It would be easier to get her out of the inn if she were still asleep, he knew, but how was he to prove his case to the inn-mistress if not by waking Kaylee?  
  
"There is no need to wake her," he suddenly whispered. "You can know we are related by our necklaces." He pulled his from inside the collar of his shirt, the silver glowing an amber color in the faint lantern-light.  
  
"Ah, I saw hers when she was washing this evening. I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you, sir. I pray you will not hold it against me," the woman apologized.  
  
"Indeed not." Araphel slipped another cloak from beneath his own and gently wrapped the Scout in it. She did not even stir, and the elf turned back to the inn-mistress. "Let me pay you for your trouble." He had a small bit of silver that Mychal had given him in case of bribery, and he reached for it, but the woman held up her hand.  
  
"No, I will not take it. I am happy that she's all right and this entire mess is worked out. Good night." And she turned and took her leave before the Healer could say anything more.  
  
Araphel lifted Kaylee just as he had the first time. She shifted slightly, brow wrinkled at some unseen dream, but did not wake. He quickly made his way out into the night, where two shadows detached themselves from the surrounding darkness. The elf started as two additional shapes, those of horses, followed Firar and Mychal into the faint illumination provided by the moonlight.  
  
"Where . . . ?" he started to question, but Mychal interrupted.  
  
"Not now. Let's get some distance between us and this village before sunrise. Can you ride with Kaylee?" At the elf's nod, the man mounted, offering a hand down to Firar. The dwarf swung up into the saddle with practiced ease, and Araphel wasted no time in springing lightly upon his own steed, holding Kaylee firmly. He settled in the saddle, looking to Mychal.  
  
"Let's ride!" 


	21. Revenge at Its Sweetest

Chapter Twenty-One: Revenge at Its Sweetest  
  
"I still say we should have tied her upside down to a tree branch near a bees' nest," Firar said, jumping down from the back of the horse he was sharing with Mychal.  
  
"Maybe we'll do that next," the Warrior said thoughtfully, rubbing his stubbled chin. "But, this first." He dismounted and took the still- sleeping Scout from Araphel, who followed them to the sound of rushing water. Stepping carefully over various weeds, the elf brushed hanging limbs aside as the three stepped onto a low stone ledge overlooking the frothy pool of a waterfall.  
  
Mychal shifted his grip on Kaylee, who miraculously had not awoken or made any other sign of life. When the Scout was asleep, she was very near comatose. "Araphel, grab the two corners of the cloak by her feet."  
  
The Healer began to get a vague idea of what the Warrior and the Keeper had planned as he obeyed. Mychal grasped the shoulders of the cloak, forming the garment into a sort of hammock. A devilish grin dawned on the man's face as he said quietly, "On my count. One . . ."  
  
They began to swing Kaylee back and forth, building up momentum with every swing.  
  
"Two . . ."  
  
There was a muffled sound, almost like a half-formed question from a subconscious mind that knew something was not quite right, but by then it was far too late.  
  
"Three!" On the downswing, both Mychal and Araphel released the girl, cloak and all, to the mercy of the blue-green water.  
  
SPLASH! Great water droplets flew in all directions, and the Scout sank like a stone. After a few moments, she surfaced, spewing words that in every way classified her as awake.  
  
"You moronic, idiotic, noodle-brained nincompoops! You stupid, conceited, arrogant, stinking excuses for men!"  
  
"Elf," Araphel corrected, having a difficult time concealing his mirth over the sight of seaweed plastered to the Scout's head, tangled inextricably in her hair.  
  
"Dwarf," Firar added, leaning on his mace, stroking his black beard and letting his guffaws escape at will. Mychal was holding his sides he was laughing so hard.  
  
"Shut up! Just . . .zip it! I don't want to hear another stupid word out of your gaping holes, any of you! When I get out of this . . ." Kaylee hadn't even paused to take a breath between sentences, she was so livid. Then suddenly her eyes went wide and all anger drained from her face as she disappeared underwater. There was a heartbeat of silence. Then:  
  
"You do not have any carnivorous water-dwelling creatures in your world, do you?" Araphel asked, keen eyes searching the foamy, turbulent water.  
  
"None that I know," Mychal said, his humor dissolving in an instant. "But that does not mean that there are none." A note of worry began to grow in his voice.  
  
"Kaylee!" Firar shouted, crouching near the edge of the stone shelf, hoping that perhaps she would surface and he could grab her.  
  
"If this is another of Shkena's tricks, so help me . . ." Mychal muttered. "Do you see her?"  
  
"No," Araphel called over his shoulder, stepping closer to look.  
  
"Yes!" Kaylee shouted, and there was a mighty splash as she burst from beneath the water like some seaweed-covered leviathan. Before Firar could react, her hand had attained a firm grip on his long beard and he was sailing head-first into the waves. Araphel was quicker and tried to jump aside, but failed miserably as Kaylee got hold of the front of his robes. A good yank and it was all over.  
  
Firar bobbed to the surface, roaring that his armor would rust.  
  
"You are not wearing any," a dripping Araphel pointed out, only to be caught full in the face with a wave of water the dwarf sent in his direction.  
  
Mychal paid no attention to either of his now-sopping companions as Kaylee swiftly hauled herself onto dry land. She had let her cloak go, and the white of her dress had been hard to distinguish from the white foam of the waterfall. That was how she had gone undetected. But Mychal had bigger problems than that. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes.  
  
"So, thought you'd teach me a lesson, did you? Thought you'd get revenge, did you? Well, let me tell you what I think, Mychal the Warrior. I think you're going to get a bath." The entire time she had been speaking, (snarling, rather) Kaylee had been circling Mychal around. In a sudden heart-stopping instant, the Warrior realized that he was on the wrong side of the ledge. The one facing the water.  
  
His realization came one half-second too late. Kaylee hit him with a flying tackle, and both went splashing into the pool, Mychal with an award- winning bellyflop. What ensued then was an all-out water war in the established age-old tradition: guys against girls.  
  
"Take that, you scumball!"  
  
"May your hide be devoured by sharks!"  
  
"What are sharks, Firar?"  
  
"Araphel, look-! Never mind."  
  
"Ha ha! Enjoying your bath, O Warrior of mine-hey!"  
  
"May you fall in a sinkhole!"  
  
"If she did, you would have to retrieve her, Master Dwa-Ai! Do not strike at your own team member!"  
  
"What business is it of yours, Elf? I shall splash whomever I please!"  
  
"Hush, both of you. Kaylee is getting away!"  
  
"Not on my beard, she doesn't."  
  
"Aye. I shall have her back soon enough."  
  
"Hey, lemme go! Pumme down! I'm warning you . . . no, not the waterfa-!"  
  
Araphel at last succeeded in dunking the Scout beneath the tumbling water of the falls. She came up spluttering, more weeds stuck to her face. Peeling them off, Kaylee shook her head, trying to disentangle the other aquatic foliage.  
  
"Now that we are all quite clean," Mychal said, his tone the only thing in the vicinity that was dry, "perhaps we might continue in our journey?"  
  
"I trust you have learned your lesson, girl," Firar growled, stumping ashore while trying to wring water from his beard.  
  
Kaylee rolled her eyes, but had the grace to concede, "Yes, sir. Never fall asleep anywhere near you three."  
  
Mychal glared at her, but she smiled impudently. "It is no laughing matter. We could have been hanged! And then where would you be?"  
  
"Oh please. I was going to confess my mistake at the trial the next morning. You were perfectly safe," Kaylee replied, combing out her hair with her fingers, tossing seaweed aside.  
  
There was a moment of silence, and Araphel raised an accusing eyebrow at Firar and Mychal. The two exchanged sheepish glances and shrugged. "I thought you said there would be no trial," Araphel said pointedly.  
  
For the first time in a long time, Firar was speechless. "I-well . . ."  
  
Mychal flung up his hands. "Forget it. We were wrong. However, in any other town it could have happened. Do not be so foolish again, Kaylee. You must grow up before you regret one of your childish actions." He looked long and hard at the girl, who sobered immediately and frowned at him.  
  
Araphel interrupted the tense moment by clearing his throat. "I do not know about any of the rest of you, but I have no desire to ride a horse in wet clothes."  
  
"I much agree," Firar spoke up, already removing his soaked overtunic. "We have spare things in our packs. Perhaps Mychal's garments will fit you."  
  
In short order the four of them had retrieved dry clothes and had laid their wet things out in the sun. Firar handed out some dried meat and apples and the three sat amiably in the grass, watching Kaylee stroke one of the horses while the other cropped grass a short distance away.  
  
Mychal polished off his fruit and tossed the core away before asking, "So, Araphel. I know we have had little time to talk, but I would like to know more about your world. Is it only elves that live there?"  
  
"Yes. There are ancient stories of other beings that dwelled there long ago, but they have since disappeared, or so we believe."  
  
"Are all elves healers?" Firar questioned, chewing on his meat.  
  
Araphel shook his head. "Some are merchants, others craftsmen. We all have different skills that we use for different purposes. My brother is skilled in silverworking, and my sister in weaving. I possess a rare kind of talent, one that few elves inherit."  
  
"So Kaylee and I have seen." Mychal glanced up as the said girl sauntered back to the informal circle the others sat in. Only a trained eye and a good memory would have noted the slight hitch in her gait.  
  
Araphel apparently had both of these, for he looked up at the Scout and said in a forceful tone that was not to be refused, "Sit."  
  
Kaylee complied before she realized what she was doing. And then she immediately hopped back to her feet. "Why?" she demanded. Whether she was angry at being ordered around, or merely for the pure sake of being contrary, Araphel was not sure. One thing was for certain, however. He was far older than her and was not accustomed to being disobeyed by anyone he considered a patient.  
  
"Sit."  
  
Kaylee sat, fidgeting nervously. Araphel settled himself on the side where he knew her knife-wound to be. "You know I already had it looked at, just let it go," she pleaded somewhat half-heartedly.  
  
"What is this animosity you have towards those who would look after you?" Mychal wondered aloud, lacing his fingers together and placing his hands behind his head before lying back in the grass and gazing up at the clouds overhead.  
  
"Bad memories," Kaylee said quietly. "Things that you experience once and never like again from there on out. One of the big things with me is healers. I hate them in general, no offense, Araphel. And also a great deal of self-dependency. I don't want others doing for me what I should be able to do myself." She cringed and bit her lip as the Healer carefully rolled up her legging to reveal the crude stitching job done by Magnum's excuse for a doctor.  
  
Araphel's brow furrowed and he murmured a prayer under his breath. "What is this barbarism?" he asked.  
  
"They're stitches, meant to hold the skin together until it heals," Kaylee explained through firmly-clenched teeth.  
  
"Firar, lend me your knife."  
  
"Hey, what do you think you're-ow!" Kaylee recoiled as Araphel meticulously sliced the threads away, removing them from the swollen and reddened flesh around the deep wound.  
  
"Stay still!" he commanded, clamping one hand down firmly over the reopened gash. Focusing, drawing on the vibrancy of the earth, the elf closed the incision and sat back, before returning Firar's knife.  
  
"I'll have you know that you did not improve my opinion of medicine in any form," Kaylee said sourly, jerking her legging back down and stalking back to the horses. "Thanks," she called over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought, leaving a bewildered elf in her wake.  
  
"She is an odd child, I will admit as much," he muttered before imitating Mychal's position on the grass.  
  
"Everybody is odd once you get to know them," Firar stated philosophically, restocking the hidden pockets in his clothing with all the small articles he always carried in case of any number of emergencies.  
  
"Truly," Mychal agreed. "So we head for Southwicke from here?" he addressed the Keeper.  
  
Firar squinted up at the sun. "We'll not make it by nightfall. But at least we can expect a warm welcome there, as opposed to Gerinhall."  
  
Araphel looked between the two of them with an amazed expression on his face. "How do you know where we are simply by looking at the sun?"  
  
Mychal let out a short laugh. "Not the sun, our surroundings. You see the Howling Mountains to the west?" He gestured vaguely without opening his eyes. "If we travel on their course southward, we can't miss Southwicke. Trust me."  
  
Araphel cocked an eyebrow at that, but refrained from giving a smart response. 


	22. Interlude to Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Two: Interlude to Trouble  
  
"Up! Get up!" Firar rolled over and caught the foot of the person intent on kicking him again before they could connect a second time. There was a muffled squeal and a heavy thud. The Keeper sat up, jammed his helmet on his head, and growled,  
  
"I do not recall asking for a wake-up any time last night."  
  
Kaylee popped up from where she had fallen in the tall grass, looking something like a gigantic ground-dwelling rodent as she grinned at the grumpy Dwarf perkily. "Well, isn't somebody in a bad mood this morning? What's the matter, didja wake up on the wrong side of the hillock?"  
  
Letting out an inarticulate cry of irritated frustration, Firar flailed half-heartedly at her as he stood, but the Scout was swift and rolled aside, jumping to her feet. "Mychal wants to get going, lazy bones like you or not. I for one just want to see civilization again. And perhaps some more dancing." Kaylee's green eyes gleamed merrily as she remembered something the Dwarf was not privy to.  
  
"Have you roused Fir-ah, good morning, Master Dwarf," Araphel greeted lightly, and the puppy following the elf yapped happily. The Healer had returned from assisting the Warrior in breaking camp and loading the horses. "Mychal believes we shall reach Southwicke well before noon, and he is eager to be off."  
  
"Aye, he is right, we will be there before the rest of the world wakes up, at this rate," Firar grumbled. "Are the birds even stirring from their nests yet?" He slipped his mace into his belt and replaced his over-tunic before repacking his bag.  
  
Araphel seemed to take the rather caustic rhetorical question and listened intently. "I believe there is a songbird in that tree over there-" and the elf pointed before Kaylee interrupted.  
  
"He wasn't being serious. And here I thought elves were wise," she muttered, turning as Mychal approached, leading the two horses.  
  
"Let's get moving as quickly as we can," the man announced, glancing to where the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. "Firar and I will need to procure some things in town, and it's best to do that when the crowds are thick and all the merchants are about." He handed Araphel the reins of his and Kaylee's horse, before mounting the steed that he and Firar had shared.  
  
All mounted, the four continued on their quick way southward. Kaylee assumed it to be sometime around ten o'clock by the time they spotted the first outlying farms. Workers looked up from where they were tilling fields and herding cattle to wave and call to the travelers.  
  
"Pleasant day to ye!"  
  
"Good morrow, travelers!"  
  
"On yer way to Southwicke, eh? Good hunting!"  
  
Kaylee resisted from attempting her celebrity wave and settled for grinning like a maniac and calling back, "The same to you, good sirs!" She was having far too much of a good time to let anything ruin her day. And for the most part, fate seemed to agree with her, which was a blessed change from all the other things she had suffered through thus far.  
  
The two horses began to overtake more travelers on the road. There were merchants with brightly-decked wagons and peddlers whose rough wares boasted durability and pride in their work, and farmers' wives who had older children with them to assist in making and carting purchases home.  
  
"We'll need to restock on provisions," Mychal was saying as he navigated his horse around a flock of fattened geese that were being taken to market. "I think we might want to expand upon our current fare. What about potatoes and some meal?"  
  
Firar stroked his beard behind his friend's broad back. "That is a good thought. One bag of meal would be enough to feed us all for a week, if not longer. We might also consider dried vegetables as well, and some herbs with which to make stew."  
  
The Warrior's mind switched tracks on that note. "Weapons are something else to consider. I have thought about training Kaylee in the way of the sword, but her reflexes with a heavy blade are far too slow. And we do not know much of Araphel and his way with weapons."  
  
The Dwarf grunted. "He seems to favor knives, if you ask me." He poked Mychal in the back, chuckling. Mychal snorted, but did not respond to the barb. "If you were to ask me, I should think that Kaylee, with her scouting abilities, could be better armed with a scout's weapons."  
  
"A bow? Do you think she has enough strength to pull one?" The Warrior sounded decidedly dubious, as he turned slightly in the saddle to size up the girl in question once more. "Well, we shall see. A bow is of no use up close, however. A dagger could be used then, if she is quick enough to handle it."  
  
"Surely Araphel is quick enough," Firar jested again, and this time his friend rewarded him by turning their horse in a tight circle, then urging the animal to rear up, causing the unfortunate Dwarf to be tossed on the ground. He landed in the midst of a mud puddle, right outside the main gate leading into Southwicke. The puppy, who had been trailing along behind the horses, immediately leaped on the Dwarf, apparently impressed that Firar wanted to play in the wet stuff too. "Arg, get off, you mangy mutt!"  
  
"Kaylee, would you mind getting down to help him? We are causing a little backup in the road," Mychal said, looking back over the heads of the gathering crowd.  
  
She directed a 'you've gotta be kidding me' look at the Warrior. "Like I trust him enough not to pull me in there with him." Kaylee rolled her eyes, paying no attention to Araphel's whisperings, as if he was trying to calm their skittish steed. Suddenly the horse's rear end seemed to move independently, and the Scout, who had released her hold of Araphel when they had halted, let out a shriek as she slipped off the animal sideways. A wet -splat- told her exactly where she had landed.  
  
Araphel and Mychal exchanged congratulatory glances, trying to mask their laughter. Kaylee was immediately attacked by a mass of muddy, wriggling puppy, intent on licking her face. "Geroff!" she tried to yell, but her anger was rapidly dissipating under the puppy's slobbery kisses. Drat natural puppy-dog charm.  
  
Firar had, with much glopping and sucking noises, gotten back to his feet. He laughed gruffly and pulled the dog off of Kaylee, who stood up slowly, mud dripping from her posterior. Her previously white shirt was decorated with smeared mud, and little pawprints adorned her face and neck.  
  
"You know, I am so glad you people don't have mirrors," she grumbled, accepting Araphel's hand up. "I probably look like I've been working the mud pit at a monster truck rally."  
  
The other three had decided long ago that it was better not to ask when the Scout made such references, and subsequently ignored her. Then the Healer let out a startled cry when a great wet mass went sliding down the collar of his tunic. He reached behind him in a vain attempt to scoop the mud out of his shirt, but with the sense of humor that fate possesses, it was too late.  
  
Kaylee had one dirty hand clamped firmly over her mouth as the elf turned to glare at her with a stare that could have melted an iceberg. In two seconds, she decided as he began to turn a funny shade of vermillion red. The hand over her mouth didn't help; her giggles escaped anyway and she made no apology for them. "You told the horse to buck me off, don't you dare deny it. You got what you deserved," she told him, as Mychal turned down a side street upon their entering the town.  
  
"You realize that we do a lot of retribution," Firar observed, finishing his task of writing 'SHOOT ME' on Mychal's back, complete with a target symbol, using a handful of mud.  
  
"It is likely a good thing that we can entertain such jokes and jests now, for I fear our road will grow more dangerous as we collect the others of our party," Mychal said, oblivious to his friend's trickery.  
  
"Speaking of the others, who are they again?" Kaylee asked as Araphel tried shaking the large glob of mud out of his clothes without exciting their horse at the same time.  
  
"The Guide, The Peacekeeper, and The Leader, correct?" Firar recited aloud. "Although I do not know where these people shall hail from, I would assume that Shkena knows what she's doing."  
  
Kaylee muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.  
  
*******  
  
"Are you simply going to continue to let her get away with that?"  
  
"Hmm?" Shkena replied distractedly, studying a chart.  
  
"The Scout. She keeps insulting you." Austus took a sip of his nectar.  
  
His wife shrugged her slim shoulders, causing her blonde hair to fall in her face. "I am not affected by what mere mortals think of me. I am more concerned about the Peacekeeper."  
  
At that, Austus jumped to his feet. "Now, don't you dare. The Peacekeeper is mine. All mine. And as you so thoughtfully," and he laced the word with sarcasm that could have withered every piece of foliage ever created, "took care of the Healer for me, I believe that I get to do the last three."  
  
"That would be well and good, had not your Peacekeeper just been killed."  
  
Austus stood and stared at Shkena for an indeterminate amount of time before finding his voice again. "I beg your pardon?" He set his goblet down with a heavy thunk! that betrayed his rising ire. Eyebrows knitting together in a dangerous frown, he stomped over to where his wife was watching the constantly-changing squiggles on a piece of parchment.  
  
Shkena straightened, eyes snapping. "You didn't pay enough attention to the Healer, and now your neglect of the Peacekeeper has caused his death. When are you going to accept responsibility for your own characters, you impossible man?" she demanded. "It is not enough that you endangered the first four . . ."  
  
"My dear darling wife, would you kindly shut up?" Austus at last asked. "I should never have picked him anyway. We can't interfere with death, and we did nothing to cause his. It is simply a mistake; it could happen to any of them. Besides, I didn't like him much anyway." He flapped a hand in dismissal of the doomed Peacekeeper. "I have a much better second choice. And I owe it all to you, my sweet. I got the idea from your choice of the Scout. Observe," and he pulled a shiny white map from beneath the table and opened it.  
  
Austus traced a few lines before snapping his fingers. A seeing-bubble appeared and floated serenely above the parchment.  
  
"Austus, you can't possibly . . ."  
  
He shot Shkena an impudent, sly smile, and clapped his hands. Another silver figurine appeared on the map, and Austus touched it almost reverently. "Now, how shall I do it?" he asked himself quietly. His eyes narrowed in devilish cunning, and he turned and fairly leaped back to where the four others that had been gathered were going about their business peacefully. The demigod snickered to himself, grabbing two of the four and racing to drop them on the pristine paper next to the single figure of the Peacekeeper.  
  
Austus smiled, then spoke quietly to the three figures, "That will teach you to insult my wife, the both of you." And he sat back to watch the mayhem and madness ensue. 


	23. Enter the Peacekeeper

**Chapter Twenty-three:  Enter the Peacekeeper**

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Mychal demanded for the second time.  "How can you forget where your stash is in a town like Southwicke?  How are we supposed to barter or pay for anything without it?"  

Firar wasn't sure, but it sounded like his friend was working on changing the color of his complexion.  He couldn't exactly tell from his seat behind the Warrior.  "I did not say that I forgot, I said that I was not sure.  They are two completely different things.  And if it came down to it, you know I can steal practically anything."

"Steal the sun from the sky and then I'll be impressed," Mychal said dryly.  Then his voice took on a plaintive note.  "Are you positive you don't know?"

"Only fools are positive," the Dwarf replied archly.  "And I have a basic idea of where we might begin to look."  Firar paused to look around, getting his bearings for the third or fourth time since he had confessed that he was not precisely sure where he had left his horde of possessions in this particular town.  "Ah, there it is.  I am certain this time."  He pointed to a ramshackle stone building resembling a church, whose steeple was home to a large nest of grackles.  

"A church?  Why does that not surprise me?" the Warrior muttered, spurring his horse forward.  "Are Araphel and Kaylee still with us?" he asked offhandedly as he waited for a farmer with a cart full of straw to pass.

A sudden shriek from a peasant caused Mychal to reign in their horse sharply.  

"Well, that does not bode well," Firar understated, gripping his friend's shoulder as the Warrior wheeled in a tight circle.

An older woman in a ragged brown dress and a gray shawl was pointing wildly at nothing and gibbering.  Several onlookers were scratching their heads and whispering amongst themselves as Mychal and Firar dismounted.

"What happened?" the Warrior demanded, striding forward.  Araphel and Kaylee were nowhere in sight, but he tried not to let that bother him.

A young girl was trying to calm the woman, who at last managed to stammer, "A man and a girl on a horse . . . they disappeared in the blink of an eye.  I'm not crazy, I'm not!" She went back to whimpering.

Firar looked up at Mychal; Mychal looked down at Firar.  "Shkena," they sighed in unison.  Resolutely, they both turned back to the church.

"Well, she'll return them after she's finished, I suppose," Mychal mused, tying the horse to the knocker of the sagging, half-opened door.

"In one piece, we can only hope," Firar agreed.  "Now, I think if we shove the altar aside we'll find it . . ."

*******

Araphel threw up one hand to cover his eyes as a blinding glare suddenly assaulted his keen vision.  Behind him, Kaylee squeaked like she'd forgotten to inhale properly.  Blinking slowly and trying to bring the world into focus while attempting to maintain command of a skittish and obviously terrified horse, the elf's sharp hearing was suddenly assaulted by a blaring siren.

The Healer couldn't identify the source, and Kaylee was tugging on his shirt in a frenzied manner that did nothing to alleviate his confusion.  Nor did the half-formed syllables she was muttering an octave above her normal voice assist him any, either.  A shadow suddenly fell across the nervously prancing animal and its two occupants.

That was it for the horse; it panicked and reared, sending both riders tumbling to the ground, which suddenly began to shake.  There was a scream, and Araphel rolled into a defensive crouch, just in time to see a large metallic bird descend from the sky.  The siren continued to screech, and the Healer's instincts kicked into action as the bird bore down upon him: he dove, rolled, and came up on the brink of a sheer dropoff.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked straight down into a mass of tangled buildings, all floating in midair.  What was worse, they looked to be several hundred feet down.  Araphel was in the air.  As an elf, heights didn't bother him, but the obvious urbanization and lack of green growing things did.  He sensed the same void he had on Kaylee's alternate world, the same deadness.  The feeling was unsettling.

Backing carefully away from the edge, Araphel turned to see Kaylee plastered to the surface of whatever it was they were on.  She was shaking in fear, and had a right to be, as the gigantic metal bird was hovering mere feet above her.

"Kaylee, listen to me," the elf began, his brown hair whipping around his face.  "I want you to crawl towards me very slowly.  Come, I know you can accomplish this simple task."  His eyes darted to the other circling birds around them, and his urgency increased.  "Kaylee, you can do this.  Just move."

The Scout remained frozen, her eyes darting back and forth like a trapped animal's.  She closed them for a long moment, swallowed hard, and visibly tried to control herself.  Slowly, inch by inch, Kaylee wormed out from beneath the bird.  She remained facedown on the ground, her voice frozen in fright.  She couldn't explain what had just happened, nor did she even know.  To her, Mychal and Firar's world was easily understandable, the object of many a fantasy novel.  This new place was like a crossover between of 'The Fifth Element,' and Star Wars' Coruscant.  But at the same time, it was nothing like it at all.

Araphel placed one strong hand on Kaylee's back, trying to draw some of the tension and panic from the girl before she went into shock or hysteria.  Both were looking probable at the moment.  His gaze, however, was taking in everything around him.  More of the enormous metal birds were flying by overhead, and there was a great line of them backed up from where the first predator had halted in mid-dive.  And . . . there was something else.  A tingling sensation danced along his spine as the elf glanced to where a woman was paused, glaring at him from the window of a small room mounted on the platform, the look on her face indiscernible.  And Araphel suddenly experienced a very foreboding feeling . . .

*******

"I hate this.  Stupid, menial, demeaning, pointless job.  A robot could do it just as well as I, and it wouldn't need time off for food or rest," she muttered.  Sitting in a hot traffic booth for twelve hours at a time did wonders for her mood. "I hate them, too.  Stupid robots, taking over everything.  Filling the air with foul gases and toxins.  Depersonalizing the world even further."  Bronwe scowled at the nine monitors that encircled her, then out the windows at the nine zones.  Same old, same old.  Nothing ever changed except the height of the ever-growing skyscrapers.   

The blaring of a horn was nothing new, but she turned her head towards the sound, instinctively reaching for her belt.  Rolling her eyes, Bronwe chided herself at the futility of such an action - weapons were no longer worn on belts - but old habits were hard to break.  The silver Hondon was parked over the shoulder of the road and blocking three vertical lanes of traffic.  _Wonderful, she thought as she got out her palm-ticket and charged up the ZAP…  She stopped mid-motion as several more screeching horns assaulted her ears.  _Now what?_ she wondered, stepping onto the ZAP-pad.  Bronwe hit a button on her wrist and saw the booth fade into a purple haze, only to be replaced with the side of the silver Hondon. _

The traffic noise was nearly deafening outside and she slipped her protective ear-wear on quickly. She ignored the irritated glare of the Hondon driver and called for a tow.  The blaring horns of the cars trapped behind her were starting to grate on her already frayed nerves.  Tapping out codes on her palm-ticket mechanically, she was in the process of scanning the license when something large and furry brushed past her in a blind panic.  She looked up in time to see the back end of a… horse?  run past her.    Shaking her head she dismissed the vision as the result of working too many hours and returned to her task.  After assigning the ticket Bronwe set up flares to mark off the blocked lanes and summoned a robot to direct traffic.  Robots sure were convenient, but that didn't mean she had to like them.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up and she slowly straightened, scanning the area unobtrusively for the cause.  There were only a few things left on Tresmar that could elicit such a reaction from her, and she was expecting none of them.  There.  Further over on the shoulder.  Recognizing the profile, she moved carefully along the shoulder staying well away from the edges.  Of course _he_ would be here.  Only he would think up such a dangerous stunt.  Feeling her irritation give way to anger, Bronwe cornered him . . . and his friend, poor thing, and let them have it, full blast.

Araphel watched the enraged woman approach him, spewing heated words that outdid anything he had ever heard Kaylee say.  He thought briefly about trying to interrupt her, but thought the better of it, opting instead to wait the verbal hurricane out.  

"I do not know what you are playing at, Amdir," she said, without giving him time to say anything, "but this is no place for pedestrians.  You could get someone killed, if you have not already!  I do not know how you 'bottom dwellers' got past level twelve without passes, and I _really do not want to know who you bribed to clone that horse, but you cannot stay here.  For one thing," Bronwe glanced down at the girl hugging the ground, "your friend's lungs will not withstand the atmospheric pressure change much longer and for another… " here Bronwe looked up and her eyes met Amdir's.  Except that it wasn't Amdir.  _

She froze.  

The noises of traffic faded away only to be replaced with the equally loud pounding of the blood in her ears.  Spots floated in her field of vision and she could feel her entire body start to tremble.  _Not Amdir. Not Amdir_.  The thought kept repeating in her mind.  The distant part of her brain, the one not immediately concerned with staying conscious and on the shoulder, noted that her breathing sounded an awful lot like the child's and pointed out helpfully, _We are in trouble.  Biiiig trouble.  She held the stranger's gaze, as if _it_ was holding her upright, her hand slowly reaching for her panic button._

"My lady," he began, watching her anger slowly melt into something resembling panic, "I am not this 'Amdir' you speak of.  Please, if I may ask something of you, what has happened?"  

There was no response other than her ragged breathing.  She kept her eyes firmly on his and started backing up, repeating a mantra to herself, _Thirty-four.  Thirty-four.  There are only thirty-four._

The thought stung Araphel, and he twitched visibly.  It wasn't so much the thought itself, however, as it was the person sending it.  As far as he knew, only elves could send their thoughts, and only through eye contact, at that.  But if the lady before him was indeed an elf, then why was she regarding him with such distrust?  Things were only going to go from bad to worse, that much he could see.

The Healer glanced down at Kaylee, who was still prone and immobile from shock.  His instincts screamed at him to do something . . . but what?

As soon as he broke eye contact, Bronwe's panic increased.  Who was he?  Who had sent him?  She was going to die.  Painfully.  _Get a grip!_ she told herself_. You have survived everything else, you can deal with this.  Do it._   She felt a twinge of guilt when she realized that she was likely condemning the girl too, but that could not be helped.  Her finger found the panic button and pushed it once.  Now, she only had to keep them here until help arrived.

Though his eyes did not see it, Araphel's ears clearly caught the sound of a mechanism being depressed.  He returned his attention to the woman, but it appeared as if she had done nothing, yet she still had not answered him.  "Lady, I beg you, please tell us where we are and what has happened.  We are distant travelers who know nothing of this place."

Time. She needed to stall him . . . to keep him talking.  He was playing dumb - that might help him in Tenwin Hall, but she doubted it.  Forcing herself to appear calmer than she felt, Bronwe replied in what she hoped was an indifferent voice, "This is Tresmar.  You have caused a rather large traffic jam and will be detained until further notice."  She paused and gave him an odd look, "What do you mean you are distant travelers?  There is no place that is _not Tresmar."_

Araphel opened his mouth to explain, but got no further.  Indeed, how could he explain a golden-haired demigod, several different worlds, and all the things necessary to make her understand?  He settled for trying to uncurl Kaylee from her ball-like position, and succeeded in getting her to stand up, if a bit shakily.  Maybe the Scout could describe their plight, as her society was similar to theirs . . . at least in some respects.

Kaylee's fists were pressed tightly into her cheeks, and her wide eyes kept watching the birds that swooped overhead.  She made no sound, but would flinch and squeak any time the shadow of a bird swept over her.  The Healer quickly decided that there was no help coming from that venue.

Finally, though, he decided that there was nothing else for it.  "We . . ." the elf swallowed, "we are from another world."

She laughed cynically, the sound cutting him like a whip. "You honestly expect me to believe that?  There are no other worlds.  We have explored them all. Lifeless.  Every last one of them.  And ours is next."  Her voice was sharp, more so than she intended.  "Who sent you? Who discovered where I am?  Was it Ambroth? Or Wihlem?  It does not matter.  He will never see you again; not where you are going."

Araphel instinctively reached out and took hold of Kaylee, pulling her towards him.  The harsh laugh of the woman seemed to have broken through to her, but he didn't need the girl panicking again at the moment.  "You are wrong, Lady.  And I know not who sent us, though I can only assume it was Shkena.  It is she who knows of the different worlds, and she who has taken us to them."

Kaylee blinked, straightened, and shook off Araphel's hand, drawing a deep breath.  She looked at the woman, covered in technical doodads and other things, as if seeing her for the first time.  "Who're you?" she demanded.  "And where's Sparky?"

'Sparky' was Kaylee's pet-name for their horse.  The elf caught Kaylee's gaze and motioned discreetly for her to be quiet; they did not need more trouble.  Then the woman's final statement, though more like a threat, hit home.  "What do you mean, 'where we are going?'"

"Away," she replied tersely.  She could hear the distinctive siren of the Tenwin 'bin' speeding towards them and relaxed slightly, "Don't worry, the girl will likely be safe enough."  The red and white 'bin' pulled up short beside her and parked at the shoulder.

Two uniformed men jumped out.  The taller one nodded to her.  "Bronwe," he greeted, "why is it always you that has the calls?"

She shrugged, trying to maintain her crumbling aura of calm, "Fate, I guess, Alton," she turned to look at Araphel once more, "just fate."  The expression in his eyes pierced her heart.  She nearly crumbled.  Not knowing if he would get the message, or even if he could hear her over all the noises around them, Bronwe tried anyways, _Don't__ let them know you're an Elf, if you can hide it._

Araphel's gray eyes never left the she-elf's as she spoke to his thoughts.  He was now positive that she was an elf, but she was just as obviously terrified.  She was terrified of being discovered, and she had disguised herself as a human to ward herself from . . . what?  All the same, he did not doubt her hasty advice, and tossed his head so that his long, brown hair fell down over his ears.

Kaylee had gone back to squeaking again; she didn't like the look of those men, and she liked the look of their vehicle even less.  She allowed Araphel to step in front of her, even though she had been poised to dive behind him anyway.  At least, she consoled herself, the maroon pelicans on scooters had finally gone away . . .

"What do you want with us?" the Healer asked, standing tall and refusing to back down like a coward.  "We have done nothing."

The one called Alton laughed shortly, "That's what they all say."  He took a step towards Araphel. "All right, since you think you need a list, I'll humor you.  You've created quite the disturbance; you've given Miss Mason a reason to push her panic button, and you've released what is obviously a vicious and dangerous creature to the area, it's running amuck and wreaking havoc in the streets as we speak.  I think that's more than enough to warrant a conviction.  Come along quietly and no one gets hurt."

 With that, the two men started advancing on Araphel and Kaylee while Bronwe stood back and watched with a seemingly impassive look on her face.

The elf did not move, nor did he glance towards the silent she-elf as the two men approached.  The logical part of him knew that he should not put up a struggle, but the bold part of him wanted to contest this blatant unfairness.  If he _ever saw Shkena again . . . he did not finish the thought.  Araphel became aware of Kaylee's hands, which were clenching the fabric of his cloak tightly from behind.  He did not know whether it was because she was frightened or because she was trying to restrain him, but Araphel's decision was suddenly made for him.  "We will go, but you must promise not to separate us."_

The men paused and blinked simultaneously.  They had not been expecting any resistance, and were obviously not used to performing conditional arrests.  Alton looked at his partner, "What do you think, Dion?"

Dion, so addressed shrugged and answered, "Don' really matter too much, do it?  'Ey're going to a same place, 'nyways." 

Alton nodded and turned to speak with Araphel and the female voice behind him, "You have my word, such as it is, that we will not separate you."

Kaylee risked a glance at the woman, whose blue eyes were carefully averted from the scene, as she followed Araphel (unabashedly never letting go of him for a second) into the back of the vehicle.  It was just like a paddy wagon, with more lighting due to the glass dome on top.  Two benches lined the sides, with a bar that could be dropped across the prisoner's laps.  She guessed that chains of some sort could be attached, but thankfully neither of their captors seemed inclined to use them.

Alton slammed the back doors shut, and the Scout jumped six inches into the air.  The transport, the people, the _whole world was so surreal, she was unsure of anything, and as a result, everything was making her jumpy.  _

The vehicle started up and lifted off with motions that felt very similar to some kind of simulator.  Araphel was gripping the bench beneath him with tight fists, his eyes cast upward to the only sign of outside world they could see through the dome.  The transport angled down, until the platform was visible, and the Healer lifted himself from his seat, hoping for one final glimpse . . .

The last thing he saw before they descended below the clouds was the woman Bronwe standing rigid on the side of the road, the wind whipping her long, brown hair around her like a mantle, her blue eyes locked on his.  And he thought he heard her say regretfully, _I am so very sorry, but I will not die for you. Then she was gone from sight. _


	24. The Tenwin Loony Bin

**Chapter Twenty-Four:  The Tenwin Loony Bin**

Bronwe stood on the shoulder long after the transport disappeared into the   
cloudbank. She was almost shaking too badly to activate the ZAP, and her   
mind was racing. Finally, she managed to make her trembling fingers push   
the button on her wrist, the loud, chaotic world faded to purple and she   
found herself in the booth once more. Collapsing in her chair, Bronwe sat   
with her face buried in her hands, ignoring the traffic outside, trying to   
comprehend what had just happened, and breathing hard. Her mantra from   
earlier, still replaying itself, gave her no comfort. Obviously, there were   
more than thirty-four, but..._how? _ It was not possible.   
  
Thirty-four elves. The remnant. The survivors. So who was this new one?   
And what had she done?   
  
_Nothing more than survival,_ she argued with herself, _and I'd do it again   
if I had to._   
  
Of course she would. Wouldn't she? The knots in her stomach didn't ease,   
nor did her heart-rate descend. Raising her eyes to the monitors, she   
realized her attention was not on her job and hit the com button.   
  
"Traffic Central," toned the impersonal answer-bot, "if you know the   
extension you seek, please state it now, if you-"   
  
"Leblon, Sid," Bronwe stated, not letting the bot finish. She waited   
impatiently for the connection to be made, straightening her wind-blown hair   
almost as an afterthought.   
  
By the time Sid came on the screen, she looked halfway presentable. "Miss   
Mason," he began politely, "I hear you've had another incident. How are you   
feeling?"   
  
"Quite shaken up," she answered honestly.   
  
His impersonal mask dropped a fraction, "That is certainly understandable.   
Do you know what that creature was?" Sid didn't give her time to lie, "I   
spoke with the city archives and they said it was a...'horse.' The   
authorities believe it is armed and dangerous. You were lucky to escape   
unhurt!" His look of true concern helped her contain the laughter that   
threatened to erupt.   
  
"I am well, thank you," Bronwe admitted, "but I am afraid I am unable to   
concentrate. I fear I will endanger lives if I stay here. Is there anyone   
who would be willing to take the remainder of my shift?"   
  
Sid thought a moment, then smiled, "One moment, Miss Mason, I will make a   
few calls."   
  
"Thank you," Bronwe said, smiling tiredly, "I'll wait." The screen went   
blank and the obnoxious 'hold' music filled the booth. Groaning, Bronwe hit   
the volume button and put her head between her hands once more.   
  
As the adrenaline rush faded, Bronwe felt light-headed and nauseated. What   
had she done? Condemning men was one thing, but she had never condemned a   
fellow elf to that fate. Her musings were interrupted but Sid's voice over   
the com again.   
  
"I got a hold of Marlen," he sounded apologetic, "he'd take your shift if   
you go out to dinner with him."   
  
Bronwe looked up at the screen and grimaced, "I hope you told him I would   
rather drink water than go out with him."   
  
Sid laughed, "I thought you'd say that. I told him 'no,' and that I didn't   
approve of my employees dating each other... that it leads to tension in the   
workplace. He'll take your shift and like it."   
  
To say she was relieved would be an understatement. "Thanks again, Sid,"   
Bronwe said gratefully, "I owe you one. I'll ZAP to the lounge so I don't   
even have to see him. See you soon."   
  
Closing the com, Bronwe stood up, collected her briefcase and charged up the   
ZAP again. Still shaking slightly, she stepped on, activated it and waited   
for the lounge to appear through the purple haze. She found herself alone   
in the lounge, for which she was grateful. She certainly didn't have the   
energy to be civil to Marlen, or anyone else, for that matter.   
  
She deposited her equipment in her lock-box and headed out to catch some   
'fresh' air, hoping to clear her thoughts and calm herself. Why could she   
not stop thinking about the two of them? It was commonplace for people to   
be committed to Tenwin. She herself had seen dozens of transients picked   
up, and none of them had affected her in this manner. Traffic flew overhead   
and to her right, but she paid it no heed, and instead tried _not to think   
of the white elephant this situation had become.   
  
There was something...unsettling about that elf. He was an elf, of that   
she was certain. Mortals did not have eyes so piercing, nor do they have   
that unmistakable glow of immortality. But that she did not know him. No,   
such a thing was not possible. She knew all the elves left, kept tabs on   
them, and helped them move to avoid suspicion. She had never seen him   
before, and that fact terrified her beyond words.   
  
Her emotions roiling and turbulent, Bronwe couldn't decide if it was worth   
the risk. One thing was for certain, she had to look him in the eye again   
before she could condemn him to Tenwin with a clear conscience. Sighing,   
she realized there was only one way to do that.   
  
She quickened her pace until she found a com-terminal booth and dialed a   
number from memory. Making sure the video monitor was off, she waited for   
the party on the other end to pick up.   
  
"Chrishom," a bored voice answered.   
  
"It is Mason," she announced without preamble, "I'm calling in my favor...and I have a feeling I will owe you by the end of this."   
  
"You've got my attention," he said, a little less apathetically. "What's in it   
for me?"   
  
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Bronwe considered who she was dealing with   
and what she had to barter with, "Five kilograms of refined Rhodron, and I   
believe I could find a bottle of thirty-eight seventy-two Dondillion if you   
are interested..."   
  
There was a pause on the other end of the line before the voice responded,   
"You have a Dondillion from thirty-eight seventy-two? How on Tresmar did   
you get your hands on it?"   
  
"My sources are my own," Bronwe said curtly, "If I told you were I acquired   
such things, you would have no need for me. Are you willing to help me, or   
shall I find someone else?"   
  
"I will do what I can, and, as always, you have my word of complete silence   
on this matter."   
  
Uncertain whether she should be relieved or nervous, Bronwe carefully   
spelled out her very shaky plan, "All right, here is what I need you to   
do..." _

*******

"I'm gonna turn spastic in a moment," Kaylee muttered.  At the serious look Araphel directed at her, she emphasized, "More spastic."  Her hands were folded so tightly in her lap that she'd lost all feeling in her fingers.  There was a sickening twisting occurring in her stomach, but Kaylee was determined to keep a tight hold on her emotions.

Then they landed, and the daylight emanating from the dome was blotted out.  A gray, metal ceiling took the sky's place, and as the craft settled to the ground the back door was wrenched open.  The two outworlders squinted in the harsh lighting that flooded in, and the elf almost flinched at the cold, desolate feeling of the building.

The guard, Dion, beckoned to Kaylee and Araphel with a firmness that brooked no resistance.  The Healer looked to his companion, and she stiffly rose, following Araphel into a heavily-guarded landing bay.  A tall, thin man was waiting for them, flanked by guards.  The whole atmosphere made Araphel feel like shrinking into himself, shutting everything out, but he couldn't do that.  He wouldn't do that.

The thin man spoke.  "You have been read your charges, and have been convicted accordingly.  You are hereby sentenced to remain here until such time as a doctor can evaluate you and determine your risk to yourselves and society at large.  If you prove unable to re-integrate yourselves into the mainstream, more...drastic measures will be examined.  Do either of you have anything to say for yourselves before you are detained?"

Araphel looked steadily at the man, but resolved to keep his questions and doubts to himself.  They would get him nowhere in this situation.  He needed to keep a cool and level head, especially for the 'evaluation.'  If he played things right, and kept Kaylee reasonably quiet and cooperative . . .

"Yes, I do have a question."  The Healer cringed and turned toward Kaylee, but it was too late.  "How are you going to reintegrate us into society when we don't belong in your society?"  Her voice was sugary-sweet, as was her smile, but her eyes could kill.

Kaylee, on the other hand, was playing on the fact that Shkena couldn't afford to lose her, and would be wary of anything happening to the Scout.  Semi-godlike protection was a force to be reckoned with, and the Scout was going to milk it for all it was worth.

The thin man merely raised an eyebrow slightly and tightened his lips a fraction. "As I am not a doctor, I am unable to made any diagnoses or decisions in that regard. If your delusions prove too difficult to manage, there are...alternative methods of re-integration.  I have hopes that they will not be necessary, as they are not always the most pleasant."  He didn't come out and say it, but his message was obvious: do what we tell you, or else!

The girl opened her mouth to shoot off a snappy retort, but Araphel whirled and grabbed Kaylee's arm in a tight grip, hissing low in her ear.  "Do not make the situation worse by irritating the people here.  Use your judgment, you know we cannot hope to escape unaided."

The Scout broke in, "Exactly.  Shkena _needs us.  Therefore she won't let anything happen.  She can grab us right out of here, and the sooner the better."  She shook off the elf's hand, and turned back to the men, raising her voice to normal levels.  "You can't simply dictate our fate.  Whatever happened to representation and lawyers?  I'll be the first to admit that a perfect society doesn't have the laywers, but what about rights?  I want to talk to somebody in authority before being 'diagnosed.'"  Her face hardened.  "And you can't treat us as if we're some patients to be corrected, when the problem isn't ours.  Your brains are so small that you wouldn't be able to understand it, so what can you do?"  Kaylee crossed her arms and dared them to defy her._

Sighing, the thin man said almost sadly, "I had hoped you would understand."  He nodded to one of the guards behind her who stepped forward and took hold of both her arms, proceeding to slip them into what appeared to be a high-tech straight-jacket.

That was it.  Kaylee was through being pushed around.  It was officially panic-attack time.  "Get your hands off me!"  She thrashed around in the hands of her captors, yanking her arms free and ducking to avoid their renewed attempt at subduing her.  "I am a free human being, and you have no right to restrain me!"  

Araphel watched, torn.  He instinctively wanted to go to Kaylee's aid, but wondered if, when the time for escape came, he might be better off considered harmless and sane, as opposed to the Scout.

The thin man showed no emotion.  If he was surprised or shocked by this sudden outburst, he gave no outward sign.  He barely moved.  He merely blinked at someone and stood motionless, waiting.  One of the guards reached for a silver tube on his belt, captured a flailing arm and pressed the tube to the shoulder quickly, depressing the tip.

Another of the guards supported the suddenly-limp girl against him while two of his companions wrestled her into the jacket, securing her hands behind her.  Araphel couldn't be sure, but it looked as if whatever they had done had merely caused her to lose control of her muscles.  Filled with relief, he noted that it apparently included her voice as well.  He looked back to the thin man, squared his shoulders, and stood ready.

A corner of the thin man's mouth might have lifted ever so slightly, but it happened so quickly that Araphel couldn't be certain.  "It seems your companion is," this time, Araphel was sure he saw a twitch, "high strung.  Do not concern yourself with her welfare, she will be all right soon enough.  Are you still insisting to be placed with her?  It is completely understandable, if you wish to change your request."

"No!"  For a moment, the Healer thought he might have spoken too quickly, but he forged ahead, "No, I am her caregiver, and I must remain with her at all times.  I thank you for your consideration."  Araphel knew that, whatever happened here, he and Kaylee must stick together.  For all he knew, Mychal and Firar could be here, looking for them.  But then...there was too much he _didn't_ know.

Nodding once, the thin man spoke once more, "As you wish.  Someone will be in to evaluate you as soon as possible."  With that, he spun on his heel and disappeared through a door that materialized and then vanished.  

One guard scooped up the still-immobile Kaylee and another motioned for Araphel to follow.  So, flanked by armed men, Araphel was marched out of the room and onto a small platform.

The elf gave a start and half-dropped into a crouch as the platform began to move upwards, eyes casting about for the source of the motion.  The wooden lifts on his homeworld used ropes for such a purpose, but he could see no mechanism to cause the platform to move.  Pushing yet another wave of apprehension mixed with wonder aside, Araphel cast his gaze around at the multiple levels of sealed doors as he and the guards rose up and up.  He was curious as to which of them was their destination, and the elf was not long in finding out.

The platform stopped moving upwards at a dizzying speed and began sliding along a row of doors until it reached an apparently random door.  Here it stopped and the guard not holding Kaylee waved something in front of it.  The door swung inwards soundlessly and he motioned for Araphel to enter.  The second guard followed and placed Kaylee on a padded bench before whirling smartly and leaving.

"Your meals will arrive via that chute," the first man said, pointing to a tube no larger than a crab apple, "someone shall be with you as soon as possible.  Welcome to Tenwin Hall."  And the door slammed shut.

Araphel looked around the bleak accommodations, his heart sinking within him.  It was silent here, cold and unwelcome.  The feelings came back to assault him even harder than before, and he sat on the other rough bench in the cell, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.  He felt no anger, merely helpless frustration.  He and Kaylee had done nothing to find themselves in this current situation...so then why their imprisonment?  Shkena had an odd sense of humor, was his conclusion.

Kaylee was making odd sounds from the bench where she had been dumped; the drug was wearing off, and her muscles were making spasmodic twitches every so often, but coherent words were beyond her for the moment.

Time crawled by at a snail's pace, marked only by Kaylee's different attempts to remove her confining jacket once she regained her mobility.  At the current moment, she was hanging upside down over the edge of her bench, working the bindings over the rough corner, trying to loosen _something.  Her earlier pleas to the Healer had gone unheeded, and at last, after at least fifteen minutes of different begging ploys, she had given up on him and was trying her own methods of escape._

The chute opened once, disgorging round things that the two supposed passed for food on this nature-forsaken planet.  Kaylee refused to touch them, and for once Araphel agreed with her, fearing some sort of deception.  

At some point in the ever-lengthening day, the sun appeared to set through the laser-barred windows, and glaring lights flickered on.  Kaylee was in the process of banging her head against the wall, out of ideas at the moment and still stuck in her straightjacket.  At least she was being quiet, Araphel mused.  Half an hour before she had been raging at him, the she-elf, and the entire existence of the planet in general.  It had taken Firar   
twice as long to get so angry, he noted detachedly.

The moon had at last risen, and Araphel was watching in half-amusement, half-horror as Kaylee wriggled around on the floor like a fish out of water, trying to get the jacket undone.  His attention was interrupted by the unmistakable occurrence of the door to their cell opening.

The two guards were back again.  The first one looked briefly at Kaylee, his eyes gleaming with amusement, but when he spoke, he was all business, "Dr. Mansford will see you now.  Consider yourselves fortunate.  Some have been known to sit in here for months without an evaluation."

Kaylee rolled to her knees, an expression that was the twin of desperation in her eyes.  "Please, Araphel?  Please, please, _please get this thing off me?  I don't want a doctor seeing me like this, they'll think I'm mental!  Come on!" she begged, scuttling to where the elf was seated._

Kaylee was interrupted mid-beg as the guard stepped aside, admitting a tall, blond woman wearing mirrored glasses.  Her face was impassive and she gave off an aura of foreboding.  She took in both Araphel, sitting on the bench, and Kaylee in her jacket, sprawled at his feet.  Nodding once to the guards, she spoke softly but in a voice that commanded authority, "Thank you, that will be all."

The guards looked startled.  "Doctor Mansford, are you certain?" the second one protested respectfully, "they are unpredictable and the girl has already been medicated."

Giving him a withering look she closed the door and walked to the opposite side of the room, her long skirt sweeping the ground softly.

Two sets of eyes followed the blonde figure, and Kaylee backed up against Araphel, insistently grinding at his knees until the elf was forced to unfasten her jacket or risk fractured kneecaps.  The Scout couldn't help the gasp of half-pain, half-relief as she moved her arms again, shedding the awful garment.  And then the two of them went back to watching Dr. Mansford.

Without preamble, she turned to face both of them.  "I have read what information there is in your files.  Unfortunately, there is very little.  And I have noted that you have been given no opportunity to speak," she said, apparently looking from one to the other, "Speak now, and I will listen.  What have you to say in your defense?"

Araphel rose respectfully to his feet, followed by Kaylee, who thankfully kept her lips sealed.  Something about this person seemed familiar.  Something...  "My lady, we have no defense, save the truth.  But our truth is one so strange that none will believe it, and it will only condemn us to this enslavement further.  What would you have us say?"  He could not see the eyes of the person behind the shiny coins she wore over her eyes, but that did not stop his feeling of familiarity.

"I would have you explain your presence and the existence of a," here, she checked a file for reference, "'horse' though they have been extinct for centuries, how came you to the eighty-seventh level without passes, and why you claim to be so obviously unfamiliar with our ways."

Araphel unhesitatingly clapped one hand firmly over Kaylee's mouth and answered for both of them.  "Because, with all respect, my lady, we are not of your way.  Look at our clothes, listen to my voice," and he removed his necklace, naturally reverting to his native tongue.

"You cannot understand me if I speak now," he said, then slipped the pendant back on, "but now you can.  I tell you the truth, we come not from this world.  We were brought here by powers beyond our control, to find one person.  Just one, and to bring them back with us.  Our worlds are far beyond the reaches of your galaxy, so far that you could not reach them."  He straightened.  "You may sentence me now for my truthful words, but nothing can change the fact that we are right."

The doctor's right eyebrow twitched slightly at the language change but she listened patiently to his explanation, her face still an unreadable mask.  She stood silently for the span of a few minutes, studying the two in front of her.  At length, she spoke, seemingly bored with the entire proceedings. "I will give you full marks for creativity.  This is the first time I have heard _this particular story.  The language necklace was a particularly nice touch, ingenious, in fact.  Not convincing, but ingenious nonetheless.  It is such a simple ploy, I could do it myself.  This ring," she said, holding up her right hand, "for instance, if I remove it, I am enabled to speak an ancient, now-dead language.  Neat, simple, and completely impossible to prove or disprove."  She opened one of her files and read silently.  Looking up, she noticed Araphel's hand over Kaylee's mouth and asked softly, "Has the child no voice of her own? Why does she not speak for herself?"_

Kaylee jerked on the chain of her own necklace, concealing it in her hand while the doctor replied to Araphel.  The doctor's words faded into a harsh gibberish that she couldn't understand, and the girl watched as Dr. Mansford looked at her.  Araphel shot Kaylee an unmistakable look of warning, but he needn't have worried.  The good doc wouldn't have a clue what she was saying anyway.

"Do you know the muffin man?  The muffin man?  The muffin man!  Yes, I know the muffin man, who live on Drury Lane?  She's married to the muffin man.  The muffin man?  The muffin man!"  Kaylee recited, looking quite pleased with herself.  She glanced at the doctor to see her reaction.  Araphel was looking at her with one raised eyebrow, but Kaylee ignored him.

The doctor might have smiled in response to Kaylee's poem, then again, it might have been a trick of the light.  Ignoring the seemingly incoherent child, she held out her hand towards Araphel. "May I?" she asked, indicating the necklace.

Araphel hesitated for a brief instant, before unfastening the chain and handing it over.  He was getting a little suspicious of this 'doctor,' but he kept his opinion to himself, instead giving the Scout another look of reprimand and gesturing to the discarded jacket threateningly.  At first he hadn't understood a word she'd said as his own pendant adjusted to the language change, and what he had eventually heard was nonsense, but he hoped to all hoping that she hadn't lost her necklace, or Shkena wouldn't be pleased . . .

Mansford held the necklace up to the light, examining it closely and murmuring softly to herself.  As neither the Healer nor the Scout was wearing their pendant, the meaning of her words was lost on both.  She turned her attention back to the two inmates, obviously struggling with a verdict.  Finally, she sighed and held out her hand to Araphel once more, returning his chain.

The elf hurriedly refastened the clasp, then motioned for Kaylee to do the same.  They both would need to understand this, he sensed.

"I am afraid this facility will not meet your needs," she began softly.  "You will need to be transferred to another facility.  I will accompany you and ensure that you are treated well."  With that, she turned and walked towards the door.

The elf and girl traded identical expressions of uncertainty.  In all likelihood, the next place would be even worse than this one.  The doctor must believe them insane; Kaylee eyed her straightjacket and shivered, but said nothing.

"Wait, you do not understand!" Araphel began, following Mansford.  "We cannot stay here in this desolate place, we must escape.  Can you not simply let us go?"  The elf inwardly railed against being forced into another cell, pushed even farther into the deadness of this world.  His free spirit recoiled, and he poured all his desperation into that plea.

For a moment, it appeared the doctor would relent, then she straightened her spine and turned slowly to face him.  Looking him, he assumed, in the eye, she asked quietly, "Do you trust me?"

That gave the Healer pause.  The honest answer to the question would be no, but why did some small part of him rebel against it?  Carefully he chose his words.  "I trust you if I must."  He sensed her gaze searching him, but he did not back down from his statement.

His answer seemed to satisfy her.  As she turned back to the door, she answered him firmly, "You must."  Then she knocked once on the door and stepped back to allow it to open.

Kaylee moved in close behind Araphel, unwilling to be left behind alone.  She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at the guards waiting outside the door, as Dr. Mansford commanded their full attention.  The Scout wanted to know what was going on, but if Araphel trusted this woman, then she would too.  And then blame the Healer later if things didn't pan out.

Stepping out onto the hovering platform, Mansford addressed the waiting guards, "These patients need more help than Terwin Hall can offer."  Her calm, emotionless voice went on, "I am prepared to accept them into my private clinic until we can locate a more suitable permanent arrangement," and on, "I will provide you with the co-ordinates when they are required," and on, "There is a transport waiting for us on level 74."

The guards, who had snapped to attention when Mansford approached them, nodded.  The taller one noticed Kaylee, sans straightjacket.  

"Hey!" he spat, "You're supposed to be restrained!"

Before he could take a step towards the Scout, Dr. Mansford held up a hand and said, very calmly, "I have assessed her, she is no danger to herself, or her companion.  I am not concerned in that matter...I permitted her to take it off."  

The guard blinked, obviously stifled a retort and nodded to the doctor, "Of course, Doctor, forgive me."

Kaylee released the breath she had been holding.  "Thanks, Doc."  She glanced furtively back over her shoulder at the guards.  "No way I'm putting one of those things back on again, ever!"

Araphel shushed the Scout, keeping a wary eye on the guards.  He sensed that Mansford was not being truthful with the guards, but that was likely to his and Kaylee's advantage.

Once they were all assembled on the platform, the second guard closed the cell door and activated the floor.  They slid sideways, then down, ending where they had begun.  Then, with one guard in front, and the other behind them, the trio was led down a long, stark hallway to a large room at the end.  

This room was empty, save a mechanical pulpit, a technician standing at it, and a purple pad on the floor.  The doctor recited a series of numbers to the technician, who pushed a number of buttons, then nodded to the guards.

"Looks like...a transporter pad," Kaylee muttered under her breath.  "Beam me up, Scotty."  Araphel was watching the doctor intently, still attempting to figure out what exactly she was up to.

The shorter guard poked Kaylee in the back, none too gently, and shoved her in the direction of the violet flooring, "Up ya go."  He motioned that Araphel should follow suit.

"Is this ever gonna be educational," the girl muttered, sticking her tongue out at the guard and jumping gamely onto the violet pad.  The world quickly turned purple, and Kaylee screamed in surprise as she tumbled onto the floor in a completely different location.

Araphel tripped over the curled form of Kaylee as he materialized behind her, but quickly regained his balance and turned to wait for the doctor.

It was several minutes more before the doctor appeared, as placid and imperturbable as usual.  She looked around to ensure no one was watching then whipped off her long skirt, revealing a much shorter one.  She then pulled off her blonde hair...wig, rather, and slipped her glasses into a briefcase that she pulled out of the corner.

Araphel's eyes widened in recognition, but it was Kaylee who found her voice first.  "You!"  

"Miss Mason," the elf addressed her formally.  "It is good, under the circumstances, to see you once more."

Bronwe nodded to them once.  "I am glad to see you are still alive, Master Elf," she said quickly, "I have many questions for you, but this is neither the time nor the place.  We have very little time."  She whirled on her heel, collected her discarded costume and dumped it into an incinerator, turning it on and burning the evidence.  She then picked up the briefcase, opened it again, pulled out what looked like a stainless steel bracelet and handed it to Kaylee. "Put this on your arm."

The Scout took the proffered bracelet and, for once, slipped it on without question, looking expectantly at Miss Mason.

"What are your intentions?" Araphel seized the opportunity to ask.  "And what must we do to assist you?"

Bronwe sighed.  "I intend to get you out of here, if I can.  It is my fault that you were sent here in the first place.  No matter what you have done," her voice softened and her eyes grew distant, "no one deserves what is behind those walls." After a moment, she shook herself slightly and regained her composure.  Looking Araphel in the eye, she said solemnly, "If I was unwilling to die for you, I could not expect you to unwillingly die for me."

[Authoresses' Notes:  Ah, well, I guess I'm speaking for both of us.  Up until Chapter 23, this story belonged exclusively to moi, a fact that I am most pleased to have altered in the aforementioned chapter.  Those of you who know my coauthor will not hesitate to give her a warm welcome...Miss DrewMarigold!  Please hold your applause until the end of the authoresses' note.  Thank you.  Our lovely Miss Drew is responsible for the role of Bronwe in this and every other chapter until the end of this fic, and I know you'll all appreciate her creative talent as much as I do.  

Another thing to mention:  I have been experimenting with HTML formatting so I can keep all my lovely italics.  I realize, however, that the new format messes with the paragraph spacing in a most ghastly way, so if there it anybody at all out there who can help me make this sorry piece of work look decent, PLEASE let me know.  Many thanks.  ~ Key]


	25. Proper Introductions

**Chapter Twenty-Five:  Proper Introductions**

Araphel sensed so much more behind those words in Bronwe's simple gaze.  But before he could even be sure of the great well of bitterness and grief behind those cornflower-blue eyes, the she-elf's expression closed, and he couldn't read anything but her facial expression.  Still, her words rang true, and somewhere deep inside him, he knew there was more there than she would admit.  "Thank you, my lady."  He could think of nothing else to say, but that did not stop him from wishing there _was_ something else.

He could read too much.  She turned away abruptly, busying herself with the things in her briefcase.  When she had her emotions under control, Bronwe straightened and handed both of them a plastic card.  "This is your new ID.  You'll need it to get out of here." She looked at Kaylee, "If you start to feel light-headed or short of breath, push the red button on your band..."  She paused, leaned over and moved the band higher up on Kaylee's arm, "There... it should help."

Kaylee started, then glanced at the band.  "Oh...thanks."  Miss Mason, as Araphel had called her, must have been referring to her total lack of coherency when they had gotten to this forsaken planet.  "Where are we going, Miss Mason?" she asked curiously, hoping the answer was somewhere along the lines of a safe place.

Bronwe paused, obviously not willing to admit too much.  "Someplace safe," she finally admitted, muttering under her breath, "I hope."

Araphel was sure only he heard the last part of her sentence, and that it hadn't been a mistake, either.  He and Kaylee were placing Bronwe in danger somehow.  Shkena had better get them out of there soon and the quicker the better, in his opinion.

Taking a deep breath, Bronwe collected her briefcase, checked the incinerator and turned to face them.  They were both looking at her with such trust, it made her cringe internally.  She was going to let them down.  She just knew it.  There _was no safe place on Tresmar.  She of all people should know that.  _

"Right," she began, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt, "Don't look anyone in the eye, don't look interested, and do not speak unless spoken to...  Any questions?"

Kaylee knew she was going to get in trouble for opening her mouth again, but she took the risk, "Are you sure we won't get any weird looks because of our clothes?"  She gestured to her mud-spattered and puppy-pawprinted shirt and leggings, clenching her ID in her hand nervously.  She didn't need another run-in with the Tenwin Loony Bin.

"No, I'm not sure," Bronwe all but snapped, "but I didn't have time to get you a new wardrobe.  That's why we're going -" she caught herself, and forced herself to calm, "I hope we aren't outside very long.  With any luck, there will be very few people out at this hour."

Kaylee smartly bit back a PMS comment.  The woman was on edge, and she didn't need to exacerbate the situation.  Resolutely, she sealed her mouth and vowed not to open it until Araphel told her she could.  Or he said something stupid.

Bronwe gripped the briefcase so tightly her knuckles turned white.  Now was not the time to get upset.  If she couldn't think clearly, she was going to get them all killed.  Steeling herself, she muttered to herself, "Die all, die merrily," and stepped towards the door, glancing around once more to make sure they'd left nothing behind.

The threesome stepped outside, into night air so thick it could have been sliced with a dull knife.  The air was oppressive, and Araphel found himself wanting to hold his breath against the weight of death it carried.  A foul breeze toyed with his dark hair, and the elf closed his eyes, pushing his uneasiness aside.

Bronwe noticed Araphel's reaction, "Awful, is it not?  Do not worry, we are going above the cloud cover soon enough."  She then pulled what looked like a cell phone out of her pocket and pushed a button.  Without warning, a red craft swooped down and hovered in front of them.  "This is our ride. Hop in."

Kaylee's eyes darted back and forth between Araphel and Miss Mason.  There was something going on there.  The two of them were talking over her, as if they sensed things she couldn't.  Or things that she didn't understand.  It was beginning to grind her nerves, as it had been going on ever since the lady had revealed herself, but she gritted her teeth and crammed her tall frame into the back of the red hovercar-thing, while Araphel sat up front.

Bronwe got in the driver's seat and spoke to the dash.  "Home."  Instantly, the transport rose up from the curb and angled up and joined the myriad of like vehicles in the air.

Visibility outside wasn't too great, but that didn't stop Kaylee from pressing her face up against the window and trying to catch a glimpse of everything going on above and below Miss Mason's hovercar-thing.  Rows and rows of different vehicles streaked past in invisible lanes that sometimes swerved very close to their own zone of air, and the Scout held her breath as the car zoomed in and out of traffic.

Leaning back in her seat, Bronwe let her head fall against the headrest and closed her eyes.  So far, so good.  She had a hundred questions for this elf sitting next to her, but she didn't know where to begin, and she didn't have the energy to concentrate.  She could tell the instant the craft cleared the clouds.  The light from the sun was brighter, and the air was less oppressive, noticeable even in the filtered air of the cabin.

Araphel straightened in his seat as the soft glow of the moon reached his skin.  He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a small sigh, reveling in the small comfort of moonlight.  He wanted to know more about the strange elf beside him, but now was not the time for questions.  Indeed, now was not the time for anything but sitting here and welcoming the slight comfort of nature back into his soul.

A silence stretched between the three in the craft - it wasn't comfortable, and it wasn't awkward, it was just...quiet.  At length, the vehicle slowed and stopped at the base of a building that seemed to climb up indefinitely.  Bronwe's eyes opened and she touched a button on the dash, causing both doors to open like a Delorean, "This is it, last stop, everybody out."

Araphel and Kaylee hopped out, their eyes trailing up and up, to where the building was lost in a haze.  "You live here?"  Kaylee asked in a whisper.  Her respect for this woman had risen a notch.  "It's too high...way too high..."  The Scout glanced down at what qualified as ground for the moment quickly, drawing a deep breath to settle her stomach.

Bronwe nodded.  "Top floor," she murmured distractedly, "Get your passes out, you're going to need them soon."

Kaylee hadn't relinquished her grip on her card, instead tightening it until she began to lose feeling in her ring and pinky fingers.  

Araphel followed Bronwe though a set of doors, then down a nondescript hall where the she-elf halted.

Standing in front of the scanner, Bronwe hit the number 'three' then waved her card in front of it, motioning for them to do likewise.  After the wall had checked all three ID cards, there was a humming sound, and what looked like a pair of binoculars came out of the wall at eye level.  Bronwe looked in it, catching her breath slightly when the red light blinked.

She then straightened and put her right hand out in front of her, apparently feeling her way along the hall to the slot in the wall that opened, indicating a lift.

The Healer noticed Bronwe's blind movements, and hurried to follow, lest she need any assistance.  Kaylee tailed him warily, her eyes getting wider every second.  The three of them stepped onto yet another platform with a rail, and Araphel glanced suddenly at Kaylee, who had a look of foreboding on her face.

Looking straight ahead, Bronwe's hand trailed up the one wall and pushed the top button without hesitation.  As the platform started upwards, she said calmly, "Keep an eye out for red triangles - they show up every fifteen floors.  Every time you see one, you will need to press the red button on your arm." It was obvious she couldn't see, but Kaylee found it a little unnerving that Bronwe's gaze seemed to be focused on her left ear.

Kaylee dropped into a half-crouch as the platform gained speed, keeping her finger near the glowing red button, pressing it as the floors flashed by at an ever-increasing velocity.  The building had to end, she consoled herself, holding her breath against the dizzy feeling that was twisting inside her.

Araphel was not at all bothered by the speed or the sudden air pressure changes as they streaked upward.  Rather, he was busy wondering what exactly Shkena intended to do with them on this world, or who she would have them find.  Unless they had found them already . . .?  He snuck a sideways glance at Bronwe, who he was positive couldn't see him anyway.  There were things that remained to be explained.

Bronwe waited more or less patiently for her sight to return, blinking as the world came slowly back into focus.  One of these days, she was going to go ballistic and smash that retinal scanner to pieces.  One of these days...  A slight movement by her waist caused her to turn, noticing for the first time the child's apparent discomfort with their situation.  She looked puzzled, "Are you all right, child?"

Normally, were Kaylee feeling a bit healthier, she would have protested the use of the term 'child,' but she was concentrating on keeping her mouth shut so that whatever was in her empty stomach didn't return for a second visit.  She settled for nodding really fast and pressing the red button again as another red triangle whizzed by.

"She does not like heights," Araphel observed to Bronwe.

Oh," Bronwe had never considered that possibility. "Well, it makes you feel any better, we are almost there."

"That is well," Araphel murmured, eager to see the abode of this modern she-elf.  And then perhaps he could ask her some of his questions.

The lift slowed rapidly and then stopped, the door opening silently into a hall with doors at regular intervals along it.  Bronwe stepped into the corridor and moved aside for her guests to follow.

Araphel looked down the length of the hallway, flinching slightly at the sterile feeling of the place.  He could not live in such accommodations; he had no idea how Bronwe did.

Without waiting for the lift door to close, Bronwe spun on her heel and walked quickly to the door at the end of the hall and punched several buttons with strange runes on them and another pair of strange binoculars slid out from the wall.  Steeling herself once more, she looked in, her breath catching involuntarily as the red light blinked again.  The latch of the door released and it swung inwards.

Araphel placed a steadying hand on the she-elf's shoulder as Bronwe attempted to walk through the doorway.  However, she hadn't taken into consideration the fact that Kaylee wasn't quite with it and nearly tripped over the girl.  

After all had recovered, to some degree, from blindness, surprise, and motion sickness, they ventured into Bronwe's home.

Making sure she didn't walk into the girl again, Bronwe closed the door and locked it.  She then started moving around the room, deposited her briefcase on a chair and finally stopped in front of what looked like a TV.  Placing her palm on a pad, she waited until the contraption told her, "You have one message," before flopping down in a chair.  "Please," she said to the room at large, "make yourselves comfortable."

Kaylee was so grateful to be somewhat standing on a surface that wasn't moving that she simply committed herself to falling on the floor in a heap, reveling in the feeling of carpet beneath her.  There _was_ some small measure of comfort left in this austere world.

The Healer, on the other hand, found himself entranced.  Had he not known for a solid fact that he was on the top floor of an immense building, he would have thought that Bronwe's home was situated in the middle of the forest.  Each window looked out into lush foliage and underbrush, where every now and again the silhouette of a bird could be seen sweeping through the night air.  

The walls were a mellow green color, soothing on the eyes, just as the furniture, with all its sleek lines was soothing on the body.  The elf seated himself in a chair, relaxing for the very first time since he had arrived on Tresmar.

For her part, Bronwe was simply relieved they had made it thus far without getting caught.  Closing her eyes, she tried to think of the next step in her plan, but her head ached and her eyes stung.  Sighing, she decided there was nothing to be done for the moment and waited for her sight to return. 

Araphel regarded his hostess with a calculating stare reserved for only one type of person: his patients.  "Bronwe, I am a healer, may I?"

Bronwe started - lost in thought as she was, she had forgotten she was not alone.  Turning to look in his direction, she tried to wave him off, "Do not trouble yourself, I will be well...soon enough."

The Healer would not be deterred.  "It is no trouble to do what I love doing," he said as he rose from his seat to stand behind her chair.  Placing a hand on either side of Bronwe's head, Araphel sensed her pain and her temporary blindness.  Gathering the nearly non-existent elements of life around him, he gently quelled the angry hurt that Bronwe felt.  Removing his hands, Araphel resumed his seat.  "It was not so hard."

It was the strangest thing she had ever experienced: the aches felt as though they had, literally, been pulled out the top of her head.  Blinking experimentally, she realized she could see and think clearly again.  She turned to look at Araphel in wonder, staring at him for the space of several heartbeats.  Still stunned, she managed a soft, "Thank you."

Araphel inclined his head ever so slightly.  "You are most welcome."  He regarded her silently for a moment, before turning to look at Kaylee, who was still in a heap on the floor.  "Kaylee?" he called at last, sensing no movement save breathing from the girl.  "There are no windows, you have no cause to be frightened."

At that, the Scout's head slowly rose.  "There aren't?"  She chanced a quick look around, then pulled herself into a sitting position.  She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, too tired to care about it.  With a contented sigh, she curled herself into a ball on the rug and slipped off to sleep.

"Would she be more comfortable on a bed?" Bronwe asked, uncertain whether she should be concerned or not.

The Healer shrugged, dismissing the problem.  "Your bed is better put to your use.  She is accustomed to sleeping upon the hard ground, and your soft floor is a luxury to her.  But if you happen to have a blanket you could spare...?"

Bronwe stood, "Of course," and she walked silently down the hall.  Pulling a soft blanket out of a drawer and collecting a pillow she came back into the sitting room.  "Will these do?"

"Perfectly," Araphel replied, taking the bedding.  He gently lifted Kaylee's head and slipped the pillow beneath it, then spread the blanket over her lightly.  She didn't even stir.  "She'll be asleep until morning, I would think.  She used up much energy trying to free herself from that straightjacket." He smiled slightly in memory.

Grimacing a little, Bronwe looked up and said softly, "I am sorry about that."

He glanced at her oddly.  "Sorry for doing what you believed at the time to be right?  My lady, you have no need to be.  You behaved in a manner that is perfectly understandable."

Bronwe wasn't sure how to deal with this ever-patient, ever-forgiving elf, so she changed the subject completely.  "Where are my manners?" she smiled, albeit a little forced, "Are you hungry, Mr...?" It was then she realized she knew neither of their names.

"Araphel.  Simply Araphel.  And yes, if it is not too much trouble to ask of you.  Kaylee," and he indicated the sleeping form on the floor, "and I have not eaten since we left our world."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Araphel," she said, "I am Bronwe, as you have already gathered.  If you will excuse me a moment?" she turned quickly and walked into what served as her kitchen, opening cupboards and pulling out various goods.  A few short minutes later, she reemerged with two small, covered plates and two short glasses of electric blue liquid.  "I cannot believe they fed you nothing when you were in Tenwin!" she remarked to Araphel as she arranged the meal on a little table, "I had thought them better than that, the Neanderthals."

"It is not to say that they did not try, but Kaylee and I are adverse to eating anything unidentifiable in dangerous places," Araphel said.  "Mychal's cooking is bad enough."

Nodding seriously, Bronwe answered, "That is likely good advice to anyone." _Who is Mychal?_ she wondered, _and why are they used to being in dangerous places? So many questions.  She didn't know where to start, so, she didn't.  Sitting down at the table she motioned for Araphel to join her._

He settled himself in the chair indicated, but did not eat as he watched Bronwe.  There was something about her, something that piqued his curiosity.  Who was this she-elf that she gave him this feeling?

"She is the Peacekeeper."

Araphel leaped to his feet and spun all in the same moment at the strange voice behind him.  Standing there and glowing slightly was a tall, bronze-skinned man, muscles rippling beneath supple skin.  "Who are you?" he asked, stance wary.

The man laughed, a sound like the thunder of a summer storm.  "I am Austus, husband of Shkena.  I congratulate you, Healer.  I couldn't have planned you a more suitable revenge then the one you brought upon yourself, with the assistance of Bronwe."

Understanding lit in the elf's eyes.  "You brought us here to find the Peacekeeper.  But you knew that something like this would happen, did you not?  Why do you go out of your way to torment those who serve you?"

Austus tsked.  "You insulted my wife, as did the Scout.  Revenge is a fickle thing, Master Elf.  And you found more than you ever bargained for."  His smug smile said everything Araphel needed to know.

If elves were prone to heart attacks, Bronwe was certain she would have had one.  As it was, she had been waiting for her guest to uncover his plate when...  Bronwe had jumped to her feet at the first sign of the stranger and had backed up until her heels hit the wall, her eyes wide.  There was a strange man in her home.  In her home.   It was official: she was insane.  First, she had seen a horse, then she had broken two loonies out of the nut-house, and now she was sharing in their hallucinations.  And what had they said? Scout? Peacekeeper? Yep, she was definitely insane.

Austus smiled broadly at Bronwe, heedless of her terror.  "There is no need to worry, my dear.  You have been selected to accompany these two and a few others on a very important quest.  But first, you're going to need this," and he dug into a pocket of his billowing robe to present the trembling elf with a necklace.

The paralyzing fear melted away in light of Austus' smile, but not the surreal feeling of insanity.  Holding out her hand uncertainly, Bronwe accepted the necklace, noting with detachment that it resembled Araphel's although the center of hers was a deep, raspberry red.  Since he was a figment of her imagination, Bronwe felt quite comfortable arguing with the strange, glowing man, "A quest?  I am sorry, you will have to choose someone else.  I cannot simply leave.  I have responsibilities here that I am unable to abandon."  Then she tried to return the necklace.  Maybe if she gave it back, he'd leave and she could go back to being the sane one in the flat.

Austus took one step backwards from Bronwe.  "You hold the necklace; the task is sealed within you.  Try as you might, you cannot refuse the call of the quest.  And as for your responsibilities, there is no need to worry about them until you return."  He folded his arms as if proud of himself.

Araphel seized the opportunity to ask, "Are you now going to send us back?  Mychal and Firar will be wondering as to our absence."

The tall demigod's smile grew sly.  "If I recall correctly, they were more concerned with finding Firar's stash of supplies than discovering your whereabouts.  Such as it is, you cannot return without all the members of your party being gathered.  And the horse is not with you.  Find the animal, and you may return."  

The Healer got the feeling that Austus had made up the rule about finding the horse just to imprison them long on Tresmar, but there was not a thing he could do about it as Austus faded from view, chuckling all the while.

Bronwe had not moved from against the wall the whole time Austus was in the room, nor did she move now.  She merely stood looking somewhat shell-shocked, her hand still extended to return the pendant.

"There is always one more thing we must do, isn't there?" Araphel demanded softly to himself.  He turned to ask Bronwe a question, but it died on his lips as he saw the stunned expression on her face.  "I am sorry, I forgot to mention the sudden appearance of spectral figures in connection with the two of us."  He guided her to a chair and made her sit.

Bronwe turned to look up at Araphel and said softly, "Why did you not mention that you were contagious?"

"Contagious?" His brow wrinkled in puzzlement.  "I do not understand.  We harbor no illness that would be a threat..."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, "You do not consider mental illness and hallucinations a threat?"  She thought for a moment, then murmured to herself, "I wonder if Tenwin accepts walk-ins..."

"My lady, you _must_ believe me.  Your continued doubt will only create problems for yourself in the very near future, once we find that blasted horse!"  Araphel spoke earnestly, knowing that Bronwe would only hurt herself with her continued denial.  "We are who we say we are."

"Oh no!" Bronwe started showing signs of returning to normal, or at least...the _new normal, "I said I would get you out, and I will do my best, but I am _not_ going back for a horse."_

"But..." Araphel was momentarily at a loss for words.  "We must! We cannot get back without it!"  He didn't know about Bronwe, but he was not staying on this nature-forsaken world any longer than he had to.  "There must be a way."

Bronwe sighed wearily.  "Araphel, I am sorry," she said, sounding both apologetic and tired, "but if your horse did not fall off a sidewalk and plummet to the ground, then he was either shot by the authorities, or is now on someone's dinner table.  I suggest you have something to eat yourself, and then get some rest.  We will be leaving here in the morning."

The Healer bit down on the question, 'Who would want to eat a horse?' and instead said, "Austus would not let our venue of return die.  The animal is alive somewhere.  It is just a matter of where."

Quickly losing patience, Bronwe stood up so she could address him at eye-level.  "Do you have _any_ idea how hard it was to find the two of you?" she asked sharply, "And how many favors I had to pull in, how many bribes I had to give to get you out?  I am running out of resources, and I doubt I have sufficient pull to even _find_, let alone rescue a long-extinct animal."

A sleepy voice interrupted their not-so-quiet argument.  "Don't you have some kind of news broadcast you could watch to find out about it?" Kaylee demanded, raising her tousled head from her pillow.  "They may have someone you can contact with information."  A yawn interrupted the last word.

Bronwe spun around to look at the girl, having forgotten about her completely.  She blinked.  "I have no such devices in my home, I find them disruptive.  They are everywhere else in my life, this is my place of rest..."  She paused, thinking, "But, you may have an idea."  Looking down at Kaylee, she inquired, "Are you certain you are comfortable there? I have a bed, if you would prefer..."

"Are you kidding?  You've got a _carpet_.  I'm ducky.  Now, could we resume this little altercation between the two of you in the morning?  Or at least in the next room?"  Kaylee's half-lidded eyes blinked wearily and she yawned again, releasing herself to dreams as soon as she finished her last sentence.

Bronwe turned to look at Araphel, "It is up to you.  Would you like to eat and rest," one side of her mouth twitched upwards in the hint of a smile, "or would you prefer to continue this...conversation?"

"I do not think our conversation was leading to any meritable conclusion," he admitted.  "Your first suggestion sounds better."

Nodding, Bronwe motioned for him to be seated again at the table.  "After you."  She was not very hungry, but she would sit with him if he was.

He sat in the chair he had previously occupied, then uncovered the plate Bronwe had given him.  His eyes widened and his stomach clenched in revulsion as he saw more of the nondescript pellets that the Tenwin facility had had.  "Not to sound ungrateful or rude, Bronwe, but does your world not have any other form of sustenance?" 

She looked at him oddly for a moment, considering.  "You really are telling the truth?" she asked, seemingly at random.

Araphel refrained from rolling his eyes, a trait he was quickly picking up from Kaylee.  "Yes, I am."  On impulse and judging from the faraway look in her eyes, he continued, "The world where we are going is untouched by all these...machinations.  There are trees, grass, animals, and free people who do what they wish.  It is nothing like here."

Bronwe smiled slightly, "It sounds beautiful," the smile faded, as she closed off her emotions again, "but it will not last.  It was like that here, once, thousands of years ago.  Over-population and lack of proper management exhausted the planet's natural resources; urbanization, pollution and chemical wars made the surface uninhabitable.  Now, the only life is in the sky, and it will only last another two hundred years...maybe three.  We are as good as dead," she said bitterly, finishing with, "and I am not going with you."

Araphel laughed strangely, sipping the drink she had given him and choosing not to comment on its high saline content.  "I regret to inform you that you now have no choice in the matter."

Choosing not to argue this matter further, she instead commented on his facial expression, "You do not care for the drink, Master Elf?"

"It is...different," he allowed, setting it aside.  "But I will not complain.  Rather, I would be interested to see if what Kaylee mentioned is a possibility."

She sighed and gave up, "Your horse.  Right.  If you will follow me?" She rose from the table and walked down a short hall to what appeared to be her bedroom.  There, in the corner, was another terminal like the one in the sitting room.  Motioning for him to take a seat in the opposite corner, she stood in front of the screen and placed her hand on the pad once more.

Araphel jumped slightly as the console spoke, "You have one message."

Bronwe pressed a blue circle and a talking head appeared, "Mason, if you're watching this message, then you're still alive, and I hope you have guests.  You should thank whatever luck you live by that you blend in so well.  Leroy is waiting for his Rhodron, and I would like to thank you for the wine.  I have never tasted better. ... oh, I don't know if you're interested, but the animal was captured by Health Services, and is slotted for slaughter and experimentation tomorrow afternoon.  Chrishom, out." The screen went blank.

Stepping back, Bronwe sighed, "Well, that answers one question..."  She turned to Araphel.  "Do you truly need the horse?" for all the world hoping his answer had changed in the last two minutes.

"I am afraid we truly do," he replied seriously.  "With all luck, perhaps someone has captured it and is using it as an exhibit to gain wealth."

She shook her head, "Did you not hear what he said?  The animal is to be killed and used for experiments tomorrow afternoon.  I am sorry."

Indeed, he had quite forgotten, an unnatural slip for him.  Araphel cursed his luck.  And a few other things.  "We must find it.  Have you no other connections that could help?"

"I am not certain." In truth, Bronwe thought this entire horse-related escapade was doomed to failure, but then, when had her opinion ever mattered?  "Why do you not try to get some rest? Perhaps an answer will present itself in the morning."

Araphel sighed in temporary resignation.  "Perhaps you're right.  There is little that can be done right now."

Pleased that he was being reasonable, she nodded to the bed, "I hope it is to your liking.  Do you require a sleeping aid?" she asked, her hand hovering over a small chest of drawers.

He cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her, as if to say, 'No, do you?' and replied, "No thank you to both, my lady.  The floor will indeed be sufficient for me as well.  I do not require anything more this evening."

Accepting the fact that neither guest would be making use of her bed, she crossed to a cupboard and extracted a pillow and blanket, "If you will not use the bed, please, there is a reclining chair in the sitting room..." she paused in re-crossing the room, "And, if for any reason, you need me in the next four hours," holding the bedding in one hand, she reached into the second drawer in the chest and handed him a silver cylinder similar to the one the guards had used on the Scout in Tenwin, "you will need this."

That brought forth no less than half a dozen questions in Araphel's mind, but he pushed them aside, accepting the items.  He simply nodded, followed her out into the sitting room, removed his boots, and made himself comfortable in the indicated chair.  Moments before he drifted off, he said quietly, "Until morning, Bronwe."

[A/N:  Again, many thanks to DrewMarigold for her continued support and portrayal of Bronwe.]


	26. A Dangerous Mission

**Chapter Twenty-Six:  A Dangerous ****Mission******

The vague, nagging feeling that had plagued her sleep only intensified as the sleeping medication wore off and Bronwe found herself staring at the ceiling trying to remember what was so upsetting.  As soon as she realized she hadn't changed out of her clothes last night, the memories came flooding back and she groaned softly.  It was going to be a _long_ day.  She had to find a horse.  She had two time travelers in her sitting room, the loony bin police could knock down her front door any minute now, and she was supposed to go with them on a quest. _Well_, Bronwe thought to herself, _we will just wait and see about that last one, eh?_

After she'd changed, Bronwe listened for any sign that the others were up and, hearing none, sat on the edge of her bed, working on the beginnings of a plan for 'Operation Horse Rescue' as she had dubbed it.  There was nothing for it, she was going to have to call in every favor ever owed to her and hope it was enough. 

Forty minutes later, armed for the day, she opened her door and softly crept to the kitchen, trying not to disturb her sleeping guests.

Araphel's eyes cleared as he sensed movement in the room, and he sat up quickly, momentarily bewildered as to his surroundings before his memory caught up with his muscles.  "Ah, good morning," he greeted, raking one hand through his tangled hair.  "I trust you slept well?"  He nodded surreptitiously at the cylinder she had given him the night before.

Sighing slightly, Bronwe answered, pointedly avoiding the word 'sleep.'  "I was undisturbed," she said, somewhat resignedly. "It was all that could be hoped for."  Hoping to change the subject, she inquired, "Are you more likely to eat in this morning, or do you insist on starving yourself?"

"Starving sounds good," Kaylee interrupted, yawning so widely Araphel was surprised to see that her face did not break in two.  "But if we get out of here soon enough, maybe Mychal and Firar'll have lunch waiting."  The Scout got to her feet, stretching out a few knotted muscles before snatching up her blanket and folding it neatly with the pillow on top.  "I'm sorry for leaving mud on your carpet," she apologized, looking at the mess her dirty clothes had made, "but _somebody_ who shall remain nameless," she glared at Araphel, "tossed me into a mud puddle."

Bronwe shrugged one shoulder gracefully.  "If what your friend says is true, carpets will not be one of my concerns for much longer," she was obviously not comfortable sending then out into the world unfed, "can I at least persuade you to have a drink before we leave?"

"Uhm, sure, I guess," Kaylee said.  "So did you two bang out a plan of attack or are we just going to wing it?"

Araphel looked at Bronwe.  "Well..." he hedged, realizing that he wasn't quiet sure _what_ they were going to do.

Bronwe chewed on her bottom lip and turned to get them a breakfast drink, "I have...an idea.  I am not sure if it is a good idea, but..."

"Any idea is better than no idea," Kaylee said, sounding much like Firar in Araphel's ears.

"I agree," he spoke up.  "We are at a disadvantage, not knowing anything of your world, so your idea is likely the best."

She tried one more time, not holding out much hope, "Are you absolutely certain you need _this_ horse?  I could possibly clone another one for you..."

"Austus made it very clear that we needed our own mount back, unfortunately.  I know it will not be easy, but we must find a way," Araphel confirmed.

Bronwe sighed, feeling she'd done quite a bit of that today.  "Of course he did.  Well," Bronwe tried to simplify her plan - not a hard task, as it was a very simple plan, "we ZAP in, get the horse and ZAP out."  She handed each of them a glass of the blue liquid, waiting for them to criticize her plan to pieces.

"ZAP is that purple transporter thing, right?" Kaylee asked.  At Bronwe's nod, she cracked her first smile since arriving on Tresmar.  "Sweet, let's do it!"  She sipped the blue stuff she had been given, then promptly choked on it, most of it going down the wrong pipe.  After a few minutes of unpleasant coughing and gagging noises, the Scout managed to squeak, "What _is_ this stuff?"

"It is an electrolyte solution," Bronwe explained, then, seeing it was not enough information, she added, "A water substitute.  Except that it has different elements that your body needs... The tablets," she gestured to the table, "contain the rest."

"Yick, pseudo-food.  Not quite like Star Trek after all," Kaylee muttered.  "So where do we go to find a ZAP?  Or do you keep one in your closet?"

"I've... made arrangements for someone to be away from their terminal for twenty-five minutes later on today. Hopefully, that will give us enough time do to what we need to do."  Though Bronwe was anything but confident, she hid her misgivings behind the impassive mask Araphel had seen as the Tenwin 'bin' had taken him away.

"When do we need to leave?" Araphel asked, downing his own drink and setting the glass aside.  "Our window of opportunity is not large, but it is better than nothing."

Bronwe looked at her wrist and answered, "Not for at least an hour, perhaps closer to two."  She looked them over, taking in their mud splatters, and hid a smile. "Would either of you care for a shower before we leave?"

"Yes, oh _please_ yes!"  Araphel had never seen the Scout so excited.  It was rather...disturbing.  "And I don't suppose they've come up with a quick way of washing clothes around here?  You know it'd be a shame to put dirty clothes back on after taking a shower..." Kaylee wheedled.

Bronwe's amusement grew at the girl's response, "You look about my size. I have clothes you can wear, if you like.  And I will see if I can do something about...that outfit."

"Great!  Wonderful!  Lead the way!" Kaylee was almost beside herself in her joy.  A real shower, no seaweed...just blessed steam and clean water.  If possible, her grin got even wider.

Bronwe inclined her head and turned to walk down the hallway, stopping halfway and pulled open a door that had been hidden in the paneling.  She stepped aside to let Kaylee in.

The girl's eyes scanned the small room, where a small stack of washcloths sat, trying to match her own version of a shower with the one she saw before her.  It wasn't working.  There was no showerhead, nor a drain for that matter.  Just a couple of buttons set in the wall.  "Er, Bronwe?  How does it work?" she asked uncertainly, at an uncomfortable loss.

Bronwe started, then remembered Kaylee had likely never seen an IonBath before.  "You stand under that blue dome, on the blue pad, and push the green button.  That releases the ions, which bombard the dirt into microscopic particles that you wipe off with the cloth.  Once you are clean, you pres the red button to turn it off." She smiled. "It is quite nice, once you get used to it.  I will get you something to change into," she said, turning to leave.

Kaylee abruptly decided that the sooner they all got off Tresmar the better.  It was downright inhumane, not to use water for showers!  Technological improvements be hanged, there was nothing like a good, scalding shower.  Somehow she didn't think that people sang in the bath very much on this planet.  She certainly wasn't inclined to do so at the moment.  She briskly nodded her thanks to Bronwe, and slid the door shut, getting down to business.

"You have no water on this planet, do you?" Araphel asked, eyeing the Peacekeeper.  He was already beginning to think of Bronwe by her title.

"None that you would want to touch." Bronwe spared him a glance, then turned and disappeared into her room, returning momentarily.  Placing a bundle of clothes at the door, she looked bitterly out the window at the images of nature, "Why do you think we live above the clouds?  To be caught in a rain shower is deadly."

"The water contains foul substances, evidently."  Araphel sighed.  "Is this the fate of all worlds with mortals on them?  To slowly be killed from without by its inhabitants?"

She answered without turning from the view, "Do you want my opinion, or are you merely thinking out loud?"

The Healer paused.  He _had_ been thinking aloud, but his innate curiosity got the better of him, "If you would give your opinion, Lady, I would hear it."

She spoke softly, but her words dripped with resentment, "Mortals are a cancer.  They devour everything in sight, seeking only immediate gratification and pleasure, caring for naught but themselves.  Nature is but a means to an end.  Infants are taken from their mothers at birth, placed in state run programs until they are old enough to work for a few short decades.  Then, when society deems them too old to be productive, they are locked away in a place like Tenwin.  Mortals cannot be bothered to look after others, their family or their planet.  They fear that which is not them, killing and destroying everything they touch.  It is because of mortals my people are gone, or forced into hiding.  It will be almost a relief when this planet dies completely.  I have only three hundred years of misery left," here, Bronwe turned to look him in the eyes, letting him see the depths of her unhappiness for an instant, "I welcome the end."

Araphel was not prepared for the sorrow in her deep eyes, and he shook his head sadly.  "Why do you not believe us then, and why do you wish to remain when you have been offered a place that is beautiful and alive?  The mortals that live there are not encumbered by such machines or lack of feeling."  He sought to convince her, and to convince himself that such things could not come to pass on Mychal's world.  But his own... 

"Perhaps..." he began tentatively, "…perhaps when this is all over, this quest, you will accompany me to my world?  It is home only to the elves, and we simply live with what is given to us, no more and no less."

Swallowing her bitterness once again, she said softly, "It is not fair for me to live on such a world... Not when my people are doomed to live here, under such conditions as you have only begun to grasp.  Nor have I any wish to watch another world die slowly."  Turning to look out the window, she continued, "Your world sounds lovely, but I am afraid I have spent far too much time in the world of men; I would not fit well in yours."

He could not bear to see her wallowing in so much bitterness, and moved to stand behind her.  "My world welcomes any and all with open arms.  You would be welcome, and you would have nothing to fear there, ever.  Mortals cannot touch it, nor stay long, for we hold sway, and we always shall.  Why will you not come?"

"And leave my people without a leader?  To whom would they turn?" Bronwe shook her head, "As much as I am tempted to go, my place is here." She reached into her pocket and withdrew her pendant and held it out towards him.  "Will you give this back to him for me?"

His gaze dropped to the necklace, whose jewel gleamed brightly from the silver knotwork.  "I cannot, and I think you well understand that.  Do not deny yourself what you know to be true."  Araphel turned away.

Mentally shaking herself, she slipped the necklace back into her pocket and studied Araphel a moment.  "I am curious," she said, "Will you do something for me?"

The elf turned back to her.  "Normally I would say yes, but I warn you that I cannot do anything to hinder our quest.  Anything else I will gladly do."

"Take it off."

One of Araphel's eyebrows shot into his hairline.  He pushed his initial thought about what she meant away and moved on to the only logical conclusion: his necklace.  Slowly he undid the clasp, allowing the charm to fall into his cupped hand.  "You cannot understand me," he said.

She smirked, switched languages and replied, "And why would you make that assumption?"

Araphel did an admirable job of hiding his surprise.  "I was not aware that you remembered the elf's native tongue."  In all actuality, he had simply assumed that their versions of elvish were different.

Bronwe shrugged, "It may be illegal to speak it, it may be a very nearly dead language, but I believe it is impossible," she smiled slightly, "to entirely forget the language you learned sitting on your mother's knee."

"True," Araphel agreed, turning slightly to witness a hand snatching the clothes Bronwe had left and disappearing back into the shower.  "Do the mortals know of you?  Is that why it is illegal to speak it?"

Nodding, Bronwe replied, "As far as they know, Elves have been eradicated and have been gone for centuries, but the law is still in the books.  And although we are far from numerous," her gaze grew distant, "we are still here."

"And there is no way of escape," Araphel sighed.  To be trapped on a doomed world, contented to wish for the end...it grieved him to see distant kinsmen in such a state, but there was little he could do.  He slipped his necklace back on so he could understand Kaylee.

"Okay, all finished," Kaylee announced striding back into the room, dressed in Bronwe's lent clothes.  "A little different, I'll admit," she said a bit sourly, "but I'm thankful to you anyway, Bronwe."

With great effort, Bronwe pulled herself back to the present, dropped the conversation and forced herself to smile at Kaylee, "Do you feel any better? Does the skirt fit?"

"Perfectly.  You have no idea how _much_ better.  I owe you one."  Kaylee tied up her other clothes inside her rather bedraggled cloak and set it gingerly by the door, to be grabbed upon departure.  "You going for a turn, Araphel?"

The elf looked hard at Bronwe before replying.  "No, as _I_ was not so clumsy as to fall in a mud puddle."  The strange she-elf was still puzzling him, and it was a matter that would give him no peace.

Kaylee's eyebrows drew together.  "You were the one that had the horse throw me."

"Details," Araphel shrugged.

Trying to ignore the elf's probing gaze, Bronwe turned to face Kaylee, "If you give me your clothes, I will see what I can do about the dirt."

"Oh, don't worry about it.  A little dirt never hurt anything.  Except Mychal, perhaps.  I wonder if Firar got anybody to shoot him?" she wondered, recalling the Warrior's mud-painted back.  "They are two of our other companions," she said by way of explanation.

Bronwe nodded, not understanding much of their conversation but willing to pretend she did. "I see." It sounded as if they were all quite close, as far as friends went.  A part of her yearned for that type of friendship again, the peace of a nature-filled world, but the rest of her rebelled against being pulled from her carefully constructed life without so much as a by-your-leave.  Deep down, she knew she would be going with them and, if the truth be told, she was more than a little curious.  And, if she truly was leaving, she had some things to take care of before she vanished.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable," she said, crossing to the terminal in the corner of the sitting room, her face a mask of polite indifference once again, "I have a few more calls to make."

Kaylee turned to Araphel with a smile so cheery it was haunting, and asked, "So, do you know how to play Paper, Rock, Scissors…?"

Bronwe walked over to the console and dialed from memory, once again shutting off the monitor and waiting.

Soon enough, the bored voice intoned, "Chrishom."

Bronwe lowered her voice slightly, so as not to be overtly overheard by her guests, "Mason here."

"So you made it, did you?" he sounded mildly curious, "I was beginning to wonder.  Now what?"

"It's time to take Mansford and her two companions off the map," she replied, not volunteering any information, "and you can tell Leroy that his Rhodron is in transit.  Both of you have my thanks.  I'll be in touch." Bronwe closed the channel and stood gathering her thoughts.

"...no, scissors look like _this_," Kaylee insisted, fixing Araphel's fingers.

"It is most difficult to portray an object one has never seen," the Healer retorted, glancing up as Bronwe finished her call.  "What news?"

She shrugged, not wanting to go into the details of her dealings, "I am merely tying up loose ends."

Her tone suggested it was unwise to pursue the matter further, so Araphel desisted in questioning.  "When shall we be ready to carry out your plan?"

"Soon enough, I believe," she said, sparing a glance over her shoulder at him, "I need to talk to one more person, and then we can leave.  I am sorry this is taking so long."

He quickly shook his head.  "No, there is time enough.  We apologize for our impatience.  You have been most generous so far, in ways we can never hope to repay."  Kaylee looked as if she wanted to add something, but she determinedly sealed her lips.

Bronwe nodded her thanks and turned back to the machine.  This next conversation would be much more difficult, and she took a minute to fix her expression to one of bland indifference she activated the monitor and dialed from memory one more time.

The screen blinked on and a face that, at first glance, was remarkably similar to Araphel's appeared.  His somber expression lightened significantly when he noted who was calling. "Bronwe!  Darling, how are you?"

"I have asked you not to call me that," Bronwe said, her voice deceptively calm, "but I did not call you to argue."

He waited, silent, obviously knowing when not to push his luck.

She paused, considering her words carefully, "Amdir, something has come up, and I may have to disappear for a while.  Since there is no one else in this Octrant with enough pull, I am leaving everything in your hands.  The passes and ID makers are in a safe-box under the name Manley at the corner of Fifty-eight, Southwen, Craighenry and Port.  Jenlin and Harmen will need to move within two years.  Keep an eye on Drake too, he may need some help."  Bronwe stopped for breath and to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything.  

Amdir's gaze sharpened as she listed off her instructions.  His eyes narrowed as he rattled off several questions at an ever increasing volume, "What's wrong? Are you in trouble? What's happened?"  He paused, listening, before continuing, quite agitated, "And who is in there with you?"

Even Kaylee couldn't miss the voice of the person Bronwe was talking to.  Araphel, on the other hand, knew _who_ she was conversing with.  They exchanged glances, and the elf murmured, "Putting her house in order...and she thought she would not come with us.  Most curious."  He looked out the window opposite him, into the 'forest.'  Kaylee still kept her mouth shut.

"Amdir," Bronwe's voice was still even, "you forget your place.  I did not ask for your consent or your counsel.  It is none of your business who I chose to entertain.  I am well enough for the time being.  I thought merely to give you a heads up, so you would be prepared in the unlikely event that I have to 'disappear' for a while."

"I don't like it," Amdir protested, "I'm coming over right now."

Again the two outworlders traded looks, but ultimately it was Bronwe to whom they gave their attention, poised as if ready to flee on her command.  No good would come of this, Araphel sensed.

Bronwe forced herself not to react, "It will do you no good as I am going out momentarily.  You will be wasting your time.  You will serve our people better by staying where you are and maintaining your cover."

If elves pouted, then Amdir pouted.  "Fine," he replied sulkily, "But if I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I'm coming over."

By tomorrow, everything would be decided, one way or another.  Either they would have retrieved the horse and her visitors would be gone, or the horse would be dead and her guests would be staying.  "Tomorrow is early enough.  I will be in touch."  For the first time in the conversation, Bronwe's control slipped and her voice nearly cracked, "Goodbye, Amdir."  Unable to continue, she turned off the monitor and disconnected the call.  Walking away from the machine, Bronwe collapsed into a chair and put her face in her hands.

_Eggshells with this chick,_ Kaylee thought to herself.  She fingered her necklace absently, finding nothing to say into the silence.  Neither did Araphel, apparently, for an oppressive quiet filled the room, none willing to admit what had been heard.

The silence stretched on for several minutes before Bronwe took a deep breath and straightened, her face composed and her eyes unreadable.  Standing, she collected her briefcase from the chair it had occupied overnight and walked without a word into her bedroom.

The Healer glanced at the Scout.  "Hey, I'm not saying nothing," she defended, raising her hands.  "You won't hear anything from me.  All I want is to get back to Mychal and Firar and get some real food.  You can handle the diplomacy, because I don't want to get in trouble.  More trouble," she added as an afterthought.

Araphel sighed.  "She is so stubborn.  One moment she appears to believe us and the next..."  He made a noise like a groan.  "There is much more to her than meets the eye, Little One.  Do not criticize her."

"I said I wasn't going to say anything," Kaylee replied fiercely.  "And I meant it.  So much for you trusting me."

Bronwe emerged soundlessly from her room, still clutching her briefcase.  Scooping up some 'food' pellets, she swallowed one and shoved the rest into a pocket.  Turning to face them she said politely, "I am ready to leave if you are."

Araphel nodded once.  "We are."  They followed her to the door.

Bronwe took one last look around her apartment, steeled herself, opened the door and stepped into the hall.  After her guests had exited, she set the combination lock and walked without a backward glance to the lift door.

Out of reflex, Kaylee wrapped her arms around her midsection, stifling a small moan.  "This is gonna be fun," she muttered to herself.

The door slid open and the trio stepped in silently.  As she pressed the lowest number, Bronwe looked at Kaylee and said, "You'll need to press the blue button every time you see a blue arrow."

"Right," Kaylee hissed between clenched teeth.  "No problemo."

The platform plummeted downward, the blue triangles a blur.  Araphel stood stock-still, face impassive as the lowest floor rushed up to meet them.  To the Healer's surprise, Kaylee arrived in a somewhat-upright position, albeit a bit lacking in breath. 

She gazed up at him, her eyes regaining some of their focus.  "Fun," she rasped.  "Can we go now?"

Bronwe nodded, distracted, and stepped out as soon as the door opened, traversing the hall swiftly and exiting the building.  She paged her car, waiting distractedly on the curb until it swooped up from below.

They piled in wordlessly, Kaylee once again cramming her tall frame into the back seat.

The craft lifted away from the curb and angled down, joining the flow of traffic the instant Bronwe entered their destination coordinates. The silence in the car was palpable, each of them lost in their own thoughts.  For her part, Bronwe was convinced this was a suicide mission, and for some reason, she wasn't worried.  Surprisingly, she was almost relieved.  She wouldn't have to watch the planet die; she would no longer be accountable for the safekeeping of others.  She smiled as she felt the burden of responsibility lift from her shoulders.  She was finally going to be free.

Araphel was lost in his own set of thoughts, drawn and brooding in the silence.  His posture bespoke his tenseness and anxiety, as did his lack of speech.  He had always been noted as quiet on his homeworld, some classifying him as 'moody.'  The Healer preferred to think of himself as pensive, and shifted his position slightly in the passenger seat, worry beginning to dominate him.  There could be no second chances, he realized.

"All or nothing," Kaylee murmured to herself in the back seat, thinking aloud to herself.  Araphel started back to reality, and met Bronwe's brown eyes when she smiled.  _Brown?_he thought to himself.  _Before they were blue._  He pushed the thought away.

Checking her watch, Bronwe started calculating when they would have to be where.  As she noted the area they were approaching, she reached into her briefcase and pulled out a black wig.

Since they were in positions that prohibited them from once more exchanging puzzled glances, Kaylee and Araphel settled for rolling their eyes and blinking in surprise, respectively.

"You believe a disguise to be necessary?" Araphel questioned.

Looking at him sideways, Bronwe answered as she twisted her hair up, "Always. It is why I am still alive."

He raised an eyebrow at that, but let the comment pass.  He had to be focused on their goal, and any sidetracking would merely slow him down.

"I couldn't live in such fear," Kaylee said softly, looking hard at the floor.  A strand of hair was coiled so tightly around her finger that the tip was turning purple, and she was yanking on it with all her might.  Araphel knew she was recalling the broken version of her own world, but he said nothing.  "I think I would choose death."

"What makes you think I haven't?" Bronwe asked cryptically, tucking her hair into the dark wig.

Kaylee opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again, fearing a trick question.  She turned her attention out the window and began counting flying purple cars, trying to remove the morbid memories from her mind's eye, still jerking frantically on her one strand of hair.

Silence descended on the trio once more as the craft dipped and wove among the lanes of traffic.  Eventually, it dropped below the other vehicles, tucked in between two buildings and lowered itself to the curb.  For a moment, no one moved.  Then, Bronwe reached into her briefcase once more, pulling out two strange looking bracelets and a pair of gloves.  As she pulled them on, she turned in her seat to look at Araphel and Kaylee.  "I suppose you two want to know what we are going to do..."

"We would," Araphel replied simply.  Kaylee settled for nodding.  "We would know what roles to play in your plan."

Bronwe made a face, "It is not so much a plan as it is a desperate attempt to get that blasted animal of yours out.  As I mentioned earlier, I have made arrangements for a friend of mine to be away from his terminal for twenty-five minutes.  Hopefully, that will give us enough time to ZAP in, locate the horse and ZAP out."  She hesitated, not wanting to worry them, but needing them prepared.

Kaylee chanced to open her mouth.  "So we don't do anything but follow you in and out, right?  No diversions or anything?"

"Best case scenario, yes," the she-elf admitted.

The Scout let her head thud back against the seat.  "Let's hope this turns out to be better than best case.  What're those things for?" she asked, pointing to the bracelets and gloves.

Pointing at the bracelet on her left arm, Bronwe replied, "This is a remote ZAP activator.  We will need it to get you out of the facility once you have located the horse. This one is," indicating the one on her right as she searched for words, "for self-defense, should we be discovered.  The gloves are merely a precaution, as I do not wish to leave fingerprints behind."

Kaylee leaned up between the seats, but her features froze at Bronwe's words.  The she-elf had said nothing about getting _herself_ out.  A soft touch on her shoulder and a miniscule nod told her that Araphel had made the same distinction.  His gaze clearly said, _she will not leave us on my watch._

"Well, let's go then," the Scout said, filling the silence that had fallen.

With a glance at her watch, Bronwe nodded and released the doors.  Bringing her briefcase with her, she stepped onto the curb and she waited for her guests, her face unreadable.

Araphel and Kaylee scrambled out of the vehicle, straightening their clothes and looking up at the imposing building before them.  "Joy," the girl muttered under her breath.  "Shall we?"

Bronwe forced an encouraging smile as she dispatched her car, "This is just an office building, you have no reason for fear.  We are only here to 'borrow' their ZAP."

"The workplace from hell," Kaylee observed.  "I don't see how anybody could work there and remain sane."

If Bronwe hadn't been so tightly wound, she would have laughed.  As it was, she merely smiled as she approached the doors, "I do not believe I ever mentioned sanity."

"I'm beginning to really hate this place," Kaylee replied, following Bronwe inside as Araphel held the door open.

Bronwe walked without hesitation through a maze of hallways and stairwells, looking for all the world like she belonged there.  The few people they passed in the halls didn't even give them a second glance.

Araphel imitated Bronwe's confident posture, pleased that none of the building's occupants paid any attention.  He gave no thought to how the Peacekeeper knew her way around the establishment, too intent on their goal to wonder about anything.

Soon enough, Bronwe paused at a door halfway down the hall.  After checking her watch, she took a deep breath and pulled the door silently towards her, stepping inside and waiting for the others.

Kaylee saw a purple platform identical to the first transporter she had ever encountered, but not much else.  She stifled a small grin.  _Ah, if my little brother could see me now, the Trekkie_, she thought.

Bronwe motioned for them to step onto the pad and walked quickly over to the controls.  Opening up her briefcase, she drew out a piece of plastic and studied it a moment.  Biting her bottom lip, she put the information into the machine then inputted a second set of information.  Setting the timer, she hit enter then joined them on the pad.

A purple haze surrounded the unlikely trio, and the room around them disappeared to be replaced with darkness.

"Nice," Kaylee muttered somewhere to Araphel's left.  Automatic lights flickered on overhead, sensing their presence.  Stacks of crates formed a maze as far as the eye could see.  They were in some kind of storage room.

Moving quickly, Bronwe propped her briefcase on a stack of boxes, opened it and pulled out the plastic card again.  She studied it intently, turning it periodically, trying to determine the best course of action.

Araphel watched her, content to wait until she collected her thoughts.  Kaylee was not quite so patient.

"Why don't we find a map or something?  Or take down a guard station?  We can't stand here and waste time," she said adamantly.

Sparing the girl a dry look, Bronwe returned her attention to the card, "This _is_ a map, dear.  And, by all means, feel free to take out a guard station, if you want to go back to Tenwin, or worse."

The Scout shut up.  Araphel favored her with his approximation of a scowl, as if warning her to keep her mouth shut.

Sliding the card into her pocket, Bronwe checked the charges on her bracelets and picked up her briefcase. "All right, we leave this room, turn left, take the ninth door on the right, go down two flights of stairs and your animal should be in the second door on the right once we reach the hall.  Any questions?"

Her companions mutely shook their heads, readying themselves to follow her.

"Okay," she shrugged.  Without waiting for a response, she turned and pulled the door open a fraction, listening intently.  "Let's go."  She swung the door open wide and stepped soundlessly into the hall.

They ghosted along the deserted corridor, around the corner, and down to the ninth door, nerves on edge.  The ninth door loomed closer, and they reached it without incident.  Araphel kept his senses on high alert, attempting to catch the barest whisper of sound.  So far, they were safe.

Pressing her ear to the door, Bronwe listened a moment before deeming it safe enough to enter.  She opened the door to the stairwell, they slipped in and she closed the door quietly behind them.  Running down the stairs silently, she was surprised to encounter a uniformed man coming _up_.  She stepped in front of Araphel and Kaylee, placing herself directly in the guard's path.  Relying on reflexes, Bronwe pointed her right forearm at him and tapped her bracelet. She caught him as he collapsed bonelessly, saving him from falling down the stairs.

"Glad she's on our side," Kaylee hissed in Araphel's ear, attempting to calm her heart rate.  Her gaze darted around at the walls, feeling as if with every movement the occupants of the building were going swoop down upon them.

If Bronwe heard Kaylee, she gave no notice, laying the guard carefully on the landing.  After checking his pulse, she moved on, apparently not sparing him another thought.

Getting to the bottom of the stairs, again they froze, listening for any sign that their presence had been detected.  Not so much as a dust mote stirred.

As they waited at the door, Bronwe was started to worry.  It shouldn't be this easy.  Nothing in life was ever this easy.  She was beginning to think they might actually succeed, and then, she would have to decide whether to go with them or not.  This was not going as she had planned.

The Healer was growing increasingly uneasy.  There was something to be said for the lack of resistance thus far, and a knot of worry began to grow in his stomach.  He looked at Bronwe, who was frowning to herself.  She was also growing suspicious, and he knew they could not linger here much longer.

Knowing that their window of opportunity was slowly closing, Bronwe opened the door to the hall and peered out.  There was still no one to stop them.  Shrugging to herself, Bronwe stepped into the corridor and turned right, counting the doors.  She stopped in front of the second one and took a quick look in the window.  Her breath caught in her throat.  The poor animal was held in a stall, strapped to the point of motionless, and still conscious.  His misery was obvious in his eyes.

"Is he there?" Kaylee asked in a voice scarcely above a whisper.  Her eyes were scanning the still-deserted hall, a feeling of dread twisting deep inside her.

Araphel peered over Bronwe's shoulder.  "Yes, and he is alive.  Come, we must move swiftly."

Bronwe pulled the card out of her pocket again and typed a code into the keypad on the door.  Sure enough, a retinal scanner slid out from the wall.  Groaning softly, she steeled herself, leaned in and hoped the contacts she was wearing did the trick.  The red light flashed and the lock released.  She blinked.  The light had hurt, but she could still see.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, until a woman's voice came over the com, "You have attempted unauthorized access in a restricted zone.  Stay where you are, the authorities will be there shortly."

"So why did the door unlock?" Kaylee groaned aloud, pushing her way through.  "Quick, come on, I bet all we have to do is touch him.  Araphel, Bronwe, hurry!"

Her cry came too late as uniformed guards began to pour through the door.  Kaylee ducked behind the horse's neck, rubbing his nose as Bronwe tried to defend them.  Araphel simply went at it hand-to-hand.

There were too many.  Bronwe knew she didn't have enough power to ZAP out three bodies and a horse, nor did she have enough energy to neutralize all the guards so she did what made the most sense to her.  Moving closer to Araphel, while still knocking out men, she called him, "Touch the horse, I can get you out."

The Healer didn't even spare her a glance as he caught a guard full in the nose, ducking a shot from a weapon that he couldn't identify.  The Peacekeeper didn't know that she did not need to get them out of this.  Austus was responsible for their departure, but the horse was the key.  "No!" he shouted above the fray.  "Trust me, move back towards Kaylee.  You must come with us!"

She was just about to reply that she wasn't going with them when a searing pain in her chest stole her breath away.  Glancing down, she noticed two overlapping scorch marks on her blouse.  Her hands and feet went numb as shock set in, the pain spreading through her body like an electric current.  Turning as she fell, she noted with detached interest that everything moved in slow motion.  _So this is what dying feels like,_ she thought as a sad smile touched her lips.  _I am finally free._  Bronwe was out before her head hit the floor with a sickening thunk.

He saw her fall, heard Kaylee scream her name.  A shot grazed his shoulder, but Araphel paid no heed to it.  Dropping down below the general weapon's fire, he gently lifted Bronwe into his arms, pressing one hand to the still-smoking wound she had sustained.  A ripple of pain touched him, and he gasped as he threw himself backwards towards Kaylee.  There wasn't enough life left in the world to afford him the healing power he needed, and Bronwe's life faded beneath his fingers.

Kaylee was struggling to keep a grip on the frantic horse while freeing him at the same time.  She ducked as a laser bolt screamed overhead and melted a hole in the wall.  Tugging and jerking on the last of the restraints, she risked a glance over her shoulder at Araphel, only to find him nearly on top of her, carrying Bronwe.  The look in his eyes was nothing short of despair as he leaped nimbly onto the horse, ducking low against his neck and sliding one of the Peacekeeper's limp hands to rest on the animal's mane.

The Scout swallowed hard and touched the mount's nose, just as a burning sensation lanced through her leg.  But the world faded around them before the pain could register.

[Key's A/N:  Okay, we've been sitting on 10 chapters for a long time and for you patient ones, I hope you'll be pleased with this latest development.  Thank you!]

[Drew's A/N: Don't look at me, I would have uploaded them, but Key wanted the honours.  Please, if you must lynch, keep it between the hours of 4 and 6pm, Monday through Thursday - we do have lives other than writing.  Keep reading!]


	27. Quite A Few Meetings

**Chapter Twenty-Seven:  Quite A Few Meetings**

"Outrageous!" Firar blustered to the weapons vender.  "I will pay no more than twelve gold pieces for this piece of metal."  The piece of metal in question was, in fact, a finely-crafted dagger that Mychal had picked for Kaylee to bear in close fighting.

"'Piece of metal,' is it?" the seller bellowed.  "I demand twenty pieces, and not a penny less!"  His round face was crimson beneath his grimy beard.

"Thirteen!"

"Nineteen!"

Back and forth the wagers flew, until, "Fifteen and ten silver!"

"Done!" the vender roared.  Coins changed hands, and Firar slipped the dagger into his wide leather belt.  The Dwarf peered over his shoulder for Mychal, who was supposedly looking at swords for Araphel at the next stand.  The man was engaged in his own debate, gesticulating with his arms and shouting.

Firar turned his attention back to the round-faced merchant.  "Now, about that crossbow..."

Later, laden with weapons, fresh supplies, and a few knickknacks that Mychal was sure that they didn't need, the two retired to the large room they had rented for the past night, hoping that their companions would reappear soon.  Firar, however, refused to be idle.

"It has been long since I tapped the resources Southwicke has to offer," the Keeper defended, slipping his heavy armor off and donning dark clothing.  "Besides, with the gold we spent today, I need to restock my supplies somehow."

Mychal looked up from where he was crouched on the floor, feeding the puppy his dinner.  "And if you get caught and driven out of town before our companions return, then what?" he demanded.  "It is not a good idea.  Not until they have returned, with whomever they have with them."

Firar's half-formed protest was drowned out by a sudden scream and the collision of a heavy body with his own.  As the dust cleared, the Keeper asked, "May I go _now?_"

"Ohhhh..." Kaylee moaned, not raising her head from the floor, leaving Firar to extract himself. 

"Foolish girl!  Can you not watch where you land?" the Dwarf demanded a touch irately.  In truth, he was quite happy to see all...three? of them. 

"Who is she?" Mychal asked from where he was half-crouched on the bed, a wriggling dog in his hands.

"Ssh," Araphel warned, his head bent close to the woman's.  His hand was pressed to a gaping wound in her chest, and the Healer's eyes closed as he delved into the overwhelming force of life that was now available.  It was like stepping from consuming darkness into a brilliant, purging light.  Slowly, slowly Bronwe's injury diminished, until no sign of it remained. 

"She's the Peacekeeper," Kaylee muttered from where she was prostrate on the ground, her rumpled hair spilling over her face, which sounded like it was pressed against the floorboards.

"The—the Peacekeeper?" Firar stammered, eyes round as Araphel sat back, fully exposing the woman's form.  "She is indecent!"  So saying, the Keeper flung one gloved hand over his eyes.  "I cannot bear to look upon one clad in such...scraps!"

"Hush, you addled Dwarf!" Araphel hissed.  He gently picked her up, and in doing so, her long brown hair fell away from her ears.  "She is an elf, and her keen hearing is undamaged.  Kindly keep your voice down; she needs all the rest we can afford her."

"And while you're being quiet, hand me a bandage," the Scout suggested, finally struggling into a sitting position.  She fondly patted the puppy, who clambered into her lap, wagging his tail frantically.  Araphel tucked the still-motionless Peacekeeper into the bed, then settled on the floor to see to his own flesh wound.

"What happened?" Mychal demanded as the Keeper dug through a pack, alternately grumbling and shielding his eyes from the Peacekeeper. 

Kaylee firmly began wrapping the strip of cloth around her leg.  "A whole lot that doesn't need repeating.  Let's just say that in the time we were there, we got arrested, taken for crazy—"

"Why does that not surprise me in the least?" Firar said, his back firmly set towards the bed.

"—and nearly killed," she finished, ignoring the Dwarf.  "And we haven't eaten since we left.  _Please_ tell me that you've got some food.  A wrinkly apple, some half-decomposing meat, _anything!_  And some _real_ water."

Araphel had already gone through the stack of supplies in the corner, his own hunger directing his eager actions.  He tossed Kaylee a waterskin, two apples, and some meat, which she began to devour without pause.

"So...is that all there is to know?" Mychal asked as the excitement of the threesome's arrival began to fade.  "Surely you must have more to tell."

Between ravenous bites of bread and apple, Araphel recounted their unlucky adventure into the future, pausing in places to clarify some point at which the other two couldn't follow the unknown technology.  At last, he finished both his story and his meal, tossing a scrap to the now-attentive dog sitting at his feet.

"Well, with another of us to feed and clothe _decently_," Firar emphasized, "I fear I must be off, then."  He stood to his feet and slipped an odd number of implements into his clothing, where they disappeared without a trace.

"Go," Mychal conceded, "but do not take any unnecessary risks, nor get yourself caught.  We need no more excitement for quite some time."

"Then why does it always seem intent upon finding us?" the Healer asked rhetorically.

Firar made no smart reply as he darted swiftly through the door, his form melding with the shadows in the dimming lamplight.

"Where's he going?" Kaylee wondered.  "And where did the horse we went through so much to rescue get off to?"

Araphel sighed deeply, as if he could care less about the fate of the animal that had caused them no end of trouble.  "He is most likely in the stables, or so I hope."  He sighed again, then rose to his feet.  "I shall go look for him."  He followed the path of the Dwarf.

"Good, because I'm going to sleep," Kaylee announced to the room in general.  "And if you wake me up, you'd better have a large, blunt object to beat me off with, because I will be _ticked._"  Having warned the world at large, she scooted along the floor, snatched a blanket from the supplies, and curled up in a corner, the dog at her side.

Mychal watched as her movements stilled, then settled on a chair to keep watch until the others returned, but soon his head nodded and he fell asleep, his head leaning against the wall behind him.

Sunlight streamed in the window, right into Bronwe's eyes.  Well, it would have shone into her eyes, had they been open.  As it was, her eyes were shut, something that should have made her think twice, but didn't.  She stretched luxuriously, enjoying the feeling of her sating sheets on her ski- ...these sheets were definitely not satin.  They felt more like coarse cotton or wool. And the air smelled different.  Like wood, and smoke, and food.  She smiled.  Being dead wasn't as bad as she thought it would be.

Wondering what memory she was reliving, she opened her eyes a little.  She saw, more or less, what she was expecting: she was lying in a bed in the center of a medium sized room with wooden walls, rafters and the remains of a fire in the fireplace.  Having been in more than enough rooms of a similar nature, she was not concerned.  Still taking in her surroundings, she was surprised by the sound of someone snoring to her right.  Leaning over the side of the bed, she was startled to discover a small, bearded man curled up on the floor.

That was odd.  She didn't think she knew any funny little, old men like that.  Why would she be remembering something she had never seen before?  Something wasn't right about this situation.  Pulling herself to a sitting position, Bronwe noticed she and the small man were not alone.  There was another, taller man sleeping in a chair, his head tipped back, breathing heavily.  She was certain she'd never seen him before either.

Growing more suspicious with every passing moment, she scanned the room for clues.  In the corner, curled up with a puppy was the girl Kaylee, her face relaxed in slumber.  What was she doing here?  With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Bronwe observed her black wig and boots lying abandoned on the floor near the fireplace.  Looking down at her blouse, she was not comforted to note the burnt material revealed perfectly clear skin underneath.  Come to think of it, she felt fine.  Better than she had for a long time...  Oh no.

No no no.  This was not fair.  She was supposed to be dead.  That little sneak!  He had healed her, dragged her here against her will and trapped her on another mortal infested, soon-to-be dead world.  Hadn't she made herself clear? She did _not_ want to go with him.

It was then that she noticed the sneak himself, lying just to the left of her bed, his eyes half open as he slept.  If Bronwe had possessed a more violent nature, Araphel may not have seen the morning.  As it was, she was content to glare daggers at him and devise all sorts of imaginary demises for the hapless elf.

Before long, her anger gave way to self-pity and guilt.  Trapped.  Again.  She was alone on a foreign world, her people were leaderless and still living under that death sentence.  Never had she despised her immortality more.  Her eyes stung, and she realized it was only partly due to the suppressed tears; she was still wearing her brown contacts.  Pulling off her gloves and tucking them under her pillow, she took her contacts out carefully.  She automatically blinked several times, noting distractedly that she could see more clearly without them in the growing light.  Not knowing what to do with them, she closed her fingers around the lenses and sighed softly.

Quite wretched now, Bronwe slid back down under the covers, not willing to be discovered fighting tears.  When her stomach rumbled slightly, she slipped her other hand into her pocket and pulled out a pellet.  Swallowing it absently, she continued to mull over her miserable situation.  She turned her back on the elf and curled into a ball, eyes closed, waiting patiently to see what would be forced upon her next.

Mychal awoke with a dry, cottony feeling in his mouth, telling him he'd been sleeping with his mouth open again.  That was what one could expect from sleeping upright in a chair.  That, and...

"Graaargh," he muttered quietly, not wishing to wake anybody that remained asleep, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to move his neck, which had locked in the position he'd slept in.  Finally, and with much gritting of teeth, the Warrior reached back with both hands and wrenched his head forward, sending an agonizing bolt of pain up his neck into his skull.  He half-fell out of his chair.

"Next time I wake Araphel and have him loosen my neck..." he muttered to himself.

Bronwe had almost decided that everyone was going to sleep all day when the man in the chair woke up and started mumbling to himself.  It was not a language that she recognized immediately, and as she knew well over fifty, she started analyzing its roots.  She nearly laughed when he practically fell out of his chair.

A loud yap greeted the Warrior as he moved to pull on his boots and overtunic.  "Hello, boy.  Be quiet now, we don't want to wake the others up.  Hm, looks like Firar got back all right.  Must've hidden most of the stash already; he doesn't like to leave loose ends or carry evidence with him."  He looked over at the still form of the new elf, who appeared to be sleeping.  She was very beautiful to his human eyes, but he was unsure of how she would react to this new world. 

"Hallo," Kaylee greeted through a half-yawn as she sat up amid her tangled blanket.  Mychal blinked at the outfit she was wearing.  How could he have missed such revealing garments the night before?  Kaylee caught the meaning of his gaze and wrapped her blanket tightly around her as she approached the piled packs.  "Sorry, forgot about your decency taboos," she apologized.  She dug through the stack for her bag, whipping out a long gray tunic that would reach to her knees and a pair of sturdy leggings.  "So you guys have been shopping, eh?" the Scout asked, motioning with one finger that Mychal turn his back.  "Tell me, what else perchanced to leap into your pockets?  No trinkets or gaudy jewelry, I hope."

As she listened, Bronwe realized she could understand Kaylee completely, but the other language was entirely foreign.  The rhythm sounded Norse, but the root words were closer to Aramaic...odd.  Thinking she'd like to know more about the company she was forced to keep, she remained motionless and listened intently.

"Not on my account," Mychal replied softly as Kaylee strode past him, fully dressed, repacked bag in hand.  "Although we did acquire some weapons for you.  I trust they will be to your liking."

"No weapon is to my liking.  I've never held anything more dangerous than a table knife in my hands," Kaylee's movements were short and brisk, as if she were trying to quit the room as soon as possible to avoid some topic of conversation.  Mychal knew in that instant that she had seen the weapons before he had mentioned them.

The Scout spun towards the door, the small dog gathered into her arms, only to find it blocked by Mychal's large frame.  "Get out of my way," she said quietly.

"No.  Do you fear to hold a weapon?  Do you fear to defend yourself?  Do you fear to harm those who would kill you without a second glance?  Answer me!"  Mychal had advanced on the Scout with each question, and she flinched and backed away.

"Yes, and I'm not afraid to say so.  Killing in my world is one of the worst crimes committed.  Someone of my standing isn't capable of it.  You saw me, Mychal.  You saw the way I hesitated on my alternate world.  I can't, I won't-"

"You must."  The Warrior's features were stern, for too well did he remember that moment.  The moment her fear had led her to cast the weapon she held aside.  It had been all right then, but in the future she had to be taught not to hesitate, not to fear.

"I won't!"  Before he could move back to the doorway, Kaylee dodged around him down the hall, her footsteps fading away.

Wonderful, Bronwe thought.  They spoke of weapons and killings.  Had she not seen enough of that?  Apparently, the powers-that-be did not think so.  Would this nightmare never end?  It was bad enough she was trapped here, but worse still, she was going to have to learn a new language as well.  More pressing than those issues was the fact that she had been in one position too long, and had to move her legs.  Hoping the tall man would think her still asleep, she shifted slowly and rolled onto her left side.

Mychal looked toward the bed as the Peacekeeper shifted, but he dismissed her slumbering form.

"It appears we have more obstacles to overcome than I first thought," Firar said, at last levering himself into a sitting position.  "She refuses to fight?"

Bronwe nearly jumped as a gruff voice spoke up behind her.  While she didn't understand the words, the tone was clear enough.  They were disappointed in something, and she gathered it had something to do with the girl's hasty disappearance.  Curious.

"She will not once we face enough danger," Araphel put in, opening his eyes fully and springing lithely to his feet, causing the Keeper to groan.  "The need for survival does not weigh upon us now, but soon I fear it will become a harsh and relentless taskmaster.  I value this calm before the storm while I can."

Oh look, the sneak was awake.  At least she could understand him.  Not that she liked what she was hearing.  Danger?  Survival?  Calm before the storm?  None of this sounded like good news.

"This calm will end soon enough, I fear.  There remain only two to be gathered: the Guide and the Leader."  Mychal began sorting through the provisions, stocking packs and laying weapons out.

"And what of her?" Firar asked, jerking his chin at the bed.  "We have much to learn of her, and the sooner she awakes and dresses in a decent manner, the sooner we can be on our way."  The look in the Keeper's eyes suggested that he had devised a good way of waking the unsuspecting Peacekeeper.

The Warrior rubbed his aching neck and sighed, "What have you thought to do _now?"_

"I was simply considering the idea of imitating an earthquake or other violent disaster...just as a hearty welcome, you understand," the Dwarf replied innocently.

"You will do no such thing, Master Keeper," Araphel responded hotly.  "Treat her with some care and respect...she was not expecting things to happen the way they did, of that you can be sure.  Best to give her all respect and kindness, as you would treat a lady."

"A _lady,_" Firar muttered under his breath, "would wear more clothes."

Araphel turned to regard the 'lady' in question, and noted with a sudden shock that Bronwe's eyes were closed.  She was not ill, nor injured any longer, thus...  "She is awake, and listens to us," he announced, half amused, half annoyed.

_I am **really **starting to dislike him_,Bronwe thought, her cover blown_._  Sighing, she sat up and ran her fingers through her hair.  "No," she said softly, "I am listening to you.  They make no sense."

Mychal and Firar exchanged similar looks of open-mouthed surprise.  The Peacekeeper did not speak their language!  "Did not this Austus give her a necklace as well?" Firar demanded at last.  "'Twill be a hard thing to have a Peacekeeper that does not understand the people she seeks to make peace with."

"What of your necklace?" Araphel asked, standing a respectful distance from the bed and inclining his head slightly to her.  "You would be able to understand all if you would but put it on."

Bronwe had forgotten about the necklace.  Actually, she had never given it much thought, not intending to ever use it.  She reached into her pocket and carefully separated it from the pellets before pulling it out.  Ignoring the looks of varying degrees of patience from the three men in the room, she studied it a moment before bringing it up to her neck and fastening it under her hair.  She then turned to them expectantly, enjoying the slight warmth radiating from the pendant.

Mychal, with a quick glance at Firar, stepped forward to take the initiative.  Bowing genially at the waist, he said, "My lady, I am Mychal, known to most here as the Warrior.  Let me be the first to welcome you to my world."  He straightened, and Firar half-rolled his eyes before copying the gesture.

"I am called Firar, and I am the Keeper for this rabble."

A bad mood was no match for years upon years of proper manners and etiquette training.  Bronwe rose from the bed gracefully and dropped into a full curtsey, not at all diminished by the lack of sweeping skirts and petticoats.  "Thank you both, kind sirs.  My name is Bronwe," she began, with a quick, questioning glance at Araphel, "and I believe I am to be your Peacekeeper.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances."  Introductions taken care of, she straightened and waited.

Firar seemed to swell, and he opened his mouth...

"Firar, you would not dare-" Mychal began, but he was never allowed to finish.

"Now that we have the matter of languages taken care of, could we possibly move on to _decency?_  I mean no offense to your ladyship, but do you not think that your clothes could stand some..." he seemed to gulp, "...improving?"

Bronwe glanced down at her clothes.  Granted, the blouse needed to be replaced, scorch marks and all, but there was nothing wrong with her skirt or sweater.  She looked back up at the little one, crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow.  "Is there something wrong with my attire, sir?" How she managed to sound both sarcastic and sweet at the same time, Araphel would never know.

Mychal 'accidentally' tripped over his own foot, sending Firar sprawling in his wild attempt to maintain balance before the Dwarf could say anymore.  "It is merely that you will stand out in our society, milady.  We do not wish to attract undue attention to our party."

The Keeper snarled something unintelligible from his face-down spread-eagled position before rolling over and clambering back to his feet.  "You show entirely too much skin, and...it...is...indecent!"

"Since when is clean skin more indecent than the filthy rags some people call clothing?" Bronwe wanted to know, "People will form opinions no matter what they are presented with.  I cannot change that.  Their convictions do not affect me."  She was doing her best to keep her temper, but the little man was starting to annoy her.

"Mychal, either she finds decent clothes, or I go blindfolded for the rest of the journey!" Firar threatened, his face flushing a deep shade of red.  It was then he noticed that his friend was looking, really _looking_ at Bronwe, in the way that men did.  The Keeper suddenly sensed he was in a losing battle.

"You'd look good in a blindfold," the Warrior muttered, blinking suddenly as his friend poked him with the sharp end of a dagger.  "Watch it!"

Araphel could clearly see that it was time for a voice of reason to step in, whether it be for his good or ill.  "Bronwe, with all respect, any man of this world that sees you dressed like that will form such an opinion as to be acted upon.  Some will not hesitate."

Bronwe closed her eyes and counted to ten.  When ten was not enough, she counted to thirty.  "I can defend myself, should the need arise," she said finally.  Opening her eyes, she found herself under the gaze of three unrelenting stares.  Taking a deep breath, she gave in, "If you can find me a suitable dress, I will wear it.  May I at least keep my boots?"

A smile pulled at one corner of Mychal's mouth.  "Yes, and should the Scout have no objections, which I doubt she will as she is not here, she possesses a dress that would suit you well."  He had taken the liberty of removing the said garment from Kaylee's pack and having it washed in her absence, hoping to later persuade her to wear it more often.  Now, he presented the white gown to Bronwe.

Bronwe took the offered gown and looked at it carefully.  Running her hand over the fabric, she smiled slightly, remembering a society long gone.  Biting her lip, she tried to give it back to Mychal.  "It is beautiful," she said, her voice husky, "but it belongs to Kaylee.  I would not dream of taking it from her."

"Hah.  She would not willingly wear it were we to tie her down and put it on her ourselves," Firar grumbled.  "She insists upon wearing leggings to suit her position."

"Wear it," Araphel urged.  "It is an elven dress, meant to be worn by such as you."

"If you are certain she will not mind, then I thank you" Bronwe relented, smiling.  Then she paused, replaying the Healer's words.  A look of panic crossing her face for a brief instant before she regained control of her features.  Holding the dress to hide her shaking hands, she tried to divert their attention away from herself, asking softly "Where _is_ Kaylee?"

The three looked between themselves, then shrugged almost simultaneously.  "Likely in the stables," Mychal said.

"With that wretched animal," Bronwe muttered.  She then forced a smile, gesturing with the dress. "Is there somewhere I can change?"

"You have the choice of us turning our backs or leaving the room.  We do have business to attend to, but your presence is required."  Mychal elbowed Firar and grabbed some of the packs.  "We will load the horses and wait out in the courtyard.  Araphel will wait by the door."  With that, they all filed from the room, leaving Bronwe alone with the dress.

The Peacekeeper stood without moving for a moment.  She had been tempted to wear her own clothes, just to be contrary, but the look on Mychal's face when he mentioned the blindfold was enough to change her mind.  If she had to travel with them, she would prefer not to have to fend off unwanted advances.  And they knew she was an elf.  She had thought her heart stopped when Araphel mentioned it, yet the other two didn't seem to care one way or another.  That was going to take some getting used to.

Well, there was no use delaying the inevitable.  Bronwe crossed to the fireplace and opened her hand, letting the contact lenses fall onto the red embers.  She watched as they melted into brown puddles before turning back to the room.  Changing quickly, she dropped her blouse and skirt on the bed before pulling the white dress over her head.  A wave of homesickness washed over her and she sat on the bed as she pulled on her boots.  Looking around she was saddened to realize her briefcase was nowhere in sight.  It was probably gone forever now.  And when the authorities got their hands on it... she could never go home.  Her cover was blown too badly now.  But she _had_ to get home!  She couldn't just abandon her people.  Not like that.

She was getting nowhere arguing with herself.  Emptying the pellets out of the skirt, she tucked them into the duster's pocket, collected her gloves.  Realizing she was stalling, she scolded herself lightly.  She looked around the room, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything before crossing to the door and pulling it open.

Araphel straightened from where he was leaning against the wall, adjusting the weight of the packs he was holding.  "This bag is yours," he said, indicating a half-empty satchel for her to put her clothes in.

She took the bag, nodded her thanks and tucked in her sweater and gloves.  She almost asked him if he'd brought her briefcase, but changed her mind.  If he had, he would have mentioned it.

The Healer noted Bronwe's lack of conversation, but decided that it was best not to push her at the moment.  Such a dramatic change in surroundings and beliefs was not to be taken lightly.  Silently, he led the way down the stairs and out to the stables.  There were four horses awaiting them, and Kaylee was holding 'Sparky's' reins very tightly.  Her expression was closed and forbidding, and Mychal and Firar were not speaking directly to her. 

"We will find you more clothes, weapons, and horse in town, milady," Mychal said.  "Araphel tells me you are of an advanced society, so I am not sure of what you would prefer in the way of armaments."

_I do not suppose lasers have been invented yet,_ Bronwe thought wryly. Shrugging slightly, Bronwe replied, "It has been a while since I have used conventional weapons, but I was good with knives at one point.  I imagine I will be quite rusty no matter what I use."

Firar nudged Mychal surreptitiously at the mention of knives, but the Warrior ignored him.  "If you were good once, then we will make sure you become excellent.  At least you are willing to use weapons," and he threw a glare in Kaylee's direction, which the Scout returned with equal intensity. 

"Araphel, this sword is yours," the Keeper interrupted, handing the elf a leather scabbard and belt, containing a blade with a bronze hilt.  The Healer unsheathed the sword slowly, almost reverently, as if memorizing every inch of the polished steel.

"My thanks," he half-whispered, running his fingers down the flat of the blade.  He replaced the weapon in its scabbard, which he buckled on quickly.  "It is a fine weapon, and I shall enjoy learning to use it."

"So shall I," Mychal said with a grin that was a bit too eager.

Bronwe bit back a sigh.  Having lived through more than enough wars, she had hoped she was finished with them.  She shifted her pack and waited to see what would happen next.

"So, Firar, what do you think?  Clothes, weapons, and then the horse?" Mychal continued.  "The vendors will be in high spirits today."

"Yes, they shall be pleased to see us again," Firar muttered.  "I am going to have nothing left to put in my stores!"  He tugged on the reins of a brown horse, and the animal followed him out into the already busy street.  Mychal followed him, then Kaylee, leaving Araphel and Bronwe to bring up the rear.

"Would you prefer to sew your own clothes, or buy them made?" Araphel asked as they paused at a dressmaker's booth, where many colorful weaves were displayed.

Bronwe made a face.  "I have not sewn _anything_ in a very long time.  I believe it would be faster to buy them already made."

The Healer smiled briefly.  "That was my thought as well, no insult intended.  Your society did not seem the kind to trifle with tasks such as that."

In the end, Araphel persuaded her to buy a beautiful blue silk gown, a more serviceable navy dress and a cloak.  Bronwe had protested at the extravagance of the gown, saying she would have nowhere to wear it, but he insisted that she should dress no less than the lady she was.  Biting her tongue to stifle a sarcastic comment, Bronwe let him purchase the garments and they moved to join Mychal, Firar and Kaylee in the square.

"Will these do, milady?" the Dwarf asked, gesturing to the two knives he and Mychal had selected.  The handles were silver inlaid with ribbons of bronze, and the tips of the blades were hooked, insuring that they would do more damage coming out than going in.

Bronwe held out her hands for the knives, and once Firar handed them to her, handles first, she checked them for balance, grip and comfort with a practiced eye.  Satisfied that they were well-made, she took a step back and flipped the knives over the backs of her hands, catching them in an attack grip.  With knives in her hands and her eyes closed, she walked herself through a drill she had learned with her first pair of knives.  The Peacekeeper was brought back to the present by a gasp of surprise.  She opened her eyes to find the point of one knife only inches away from Mychal's throat.  Blushing only slightly, she quickly flipped the knives over again, catching the blades and handing them back to Firar. 

"I believe these will do, Master Firar, thank you," she murmured, trying to ignore their gazes.

The Warrior attempted breathing again, and took a slight step backwards.  He pointedly overlooked the positively demonic grin Firar was giving him.  Kaylee's mouth was still hanging open, while Araphel was looking smugly satisfied.  What was it with elves and knives?  "Now then," he began, stilling the tremor in his voice, "a horse."

Smiling demurely, Bronwe nodded and waited for him to precede her. 

There were all manner of stables in Southwicke, as it was a travel hub for the region.  But Mychal had close ties with this particular stablemaster.  "Henrin!" he called over the rabble of a loose hog. 

"Is that Mychal I hear?  Back so soon, Cousin?" a large, broad-shouldered man bellowed, appearing through the doorway.  "Here to say goodbye, or d'you need another horse?"

Mychal clapped Henrin on the back.  "Both, dear cousin, both.  This lovely lady, who has just joined our company, needs a mount of her own, with full tack."

Henrin caught sight of Bronwe, regal in her flowing white dress, and attempted a clumsy half-bow.  "My lady," he greeted humbly.

Bronwe inclined her head and smiled, privately wondering when all this 'lady' business would end so she could go back to being 'Bronwe.'

"We have many horses to choose from, my lady, and all of them are fine animals.  Please, if you wish it, come and look for yourself."  Mychal had never seen Henrin so nervous.  Then again, he doubted Henrin had ever seen someone like Bronwe.

Bronwe thanked the man softly and stepped towards the animals.  After posing a quiet question to the room at large, she stood listening.  A loud neigh from the back of the stable answered her and she turned to the stable master.  "I would like that animal, if you please.  The one in the back."

Henrin led the Peacekeeper all the way to the far wall of the building, to where a chestnut stallion was tossing its head and pawing the ground impatiently.  "Are you sure, m'lady?  He can be very spirited when he wants to be."

With amusement, Bronwe noted the empty stall between this horse and the rest.  Apparently, he wanted to be 'spirited' most of the time.  She smiled, truly smiled, for the first time since the Healer had known her.  Not taking her eyes off the horse, she replied, "I would not have him any other way."

"As you wish," Henrin conceded.  In truth, he was rather grateful to see the stallion go, as he had never had so many problems with any of his other animals.  "The tack is this way, m'lady."  He showed Bronwe and Araphel to a small side room, where halters and bridles were hung on the walls, and various saddles tooled with lovely designs sat polished, ready to be used.

Sidling up to Araphel, Bronwe asked in undertone, "Have side-saddles been invented yet?"

The Healer's brow wrinkled at her question; he had never had cause to use a saddle before he met Mychal...and thus could not determine one from the other.  He voiced Bronwe's question to Henrin, who pointed to a wooden rail that displayed three distinctly-shaped saddles that were quite different from the one he'd used.

"There they be, milady.  Sorry I don't carry more, but there's not a lot of call for 'em," the stablemaster apologized.

Assuring him that his selection was more than adequate, Bronwe stepped closer to inspect the saddles.  If these men were insisting she wear a long dress, there was no way she was going to ruin it by riding bareback, or sitting in a standard saddle.  The Peacekeeper chose a beautifully wrought saddle and matching accessories, the voice in back of her mind insisting they were too costly.

Araphel reached for the moneypouch he had appropriated from Mychal (albeit without the Warrior's knowledge) and settled the price with Henrin without question.  He thought nothing less of Bronwe's choice, and he had a sneaking suspicion that the appearance of finery would be useful in the future.  Perhaps the very near future.

With the horse saddled, Araphel thanked the stable owner and followed Bronwe back outside.  Mychal merely blinked at the choice, while Firar muttered, "I wonder how much _that_ cost me..."

Bronwe bit her lip then made a decision.  Reaching under her sleeve, she unclasped the ZAP activator and presented it to Mychal.  "Please take this.  I cannot in good conscience let you spend your money on me.  I have no silver, but this bracelet is platinum and might fetch a fair price."

The bangle never reached Mychal's hands as a black-bearded streak passed between them and the jewelry vanished from Bronwe's fingers.  "Platinum, you say?  Incredible!" Firar muttered, examining the metal intently.  The Warrior rolled his eyes, but chose to ignore his friend.

"We'll start northwest from here," Mychal decided.  "With the Leader and Guide left, there is no assurance that we will get anywhere at all."

Bronwe blinked at the dwarf then smiled, "It is yours, if you like it."

No sooner had the sentence passed the Peacekeeper's lips then the bracelet had disappeared somewhere into the voluminous pockets of the Keeper.  Then the Dwarf hopped nimbly onto the small pony Henrin had sold them earlier.  "Let's go, then!  The horizon beckons!"

"He just wants breakfast," Kaylee observed dryly, mounting 'Sparky.' 

Raising an eyebrow, Bronwe said nothing, turning instead to load her bag onto the horse.  He seemed nervous, so she started humming under her breath, hoping it would help him settle a little.

The Scout stiffened in her saddle as she recognized the tune as 'The Muffin Man.'  So Bronwe _had_ understood her without her necklace on.  A flush crept up her neck and turned her ears red.

Araphel noted Kaylee's reaction with interest as he leapt astride his own mount, a dapple-gray.  "In this instance, I am likely to agree with Firar.  Food would be a welcome distraction."

"Once we're out of town," Mychal put in.  "I would prefer some distance and some quiet before I break my fast."  He too mounted, then turned back to wait for Bronwe.

Seeing she was last, again, she double-checked the belts out of habit and hopped up lightly, arranging her gown properly.  Her horse snorted and side-stepped, clearly unused to being ridden.  Bronwe merely smiled and stroked his mane with one hand.

The fivesome carefully made their way through the thickening crowds, and passed out the far gate on the other side of Southwicke.  The boulder-dotted fields stretched away before them, and the great craggy mountains began to dwindle into hills as they rode. 

"Ah, it does one good to have the open road before them again," Firar breathed in deeply.

For her part, Bronwe was drinking in the greenness of the world.  She could hear at least a dozen different birdsongs drifting down from a grove of trees and several small rodents were scurrying in the bushes by the side of the road.  It was music to her ears.  The Peacekeeper had nearly forgotten the exhilaration that came from a oneness with nature.  She was content to ride in the back, struggling as she was to keep her face carefully blank.

Mychal spurred his horse to a faster gait, welcoming the rush of the wind over his face.  "Come on, you slow old women!" he shouted in challenge.  "The last one to those trees must brush the horses!"

"Aye, laddie, and it will be you!" Firar roared back, setting his heels to his pony's sides.  "Let's go, lass, he'll not have the best of us!"

Bronwe grinned and kicked her horse.  It was just as she expected, the animal had been just itching to move faster and he took off like a shot.  If she hadn't been ready for the sudden speed, she might have fallen off.  As it was, she merely adjusted her balance and smiled as she overtook first the pony and started rapidly gaining on Mychal.

"Ah, we have a contender!" Mychal cried above the wind in his ears.  "Let's see how a lady races!"

"And you would count me for naught?" Araphel asked calmly as if he were simply out for a quiet ride, passing within two feet of the Warrior.

"Hey, did you think I was going to be left in the dust, too?" Kaylee yelled, bending low to Sparky's neck.

Whispering to her horse, who still needed a name, Bronwe asked him if he thought he could outrun the rabble he was traveling with.  He nickered, she gave him more reign, and they bolted past Mychal and then Araphel.  She then readjusted her expression, composing it to one of almost boredom, turning back to call, "Are we out for a pleasant ride, or is this to be a race?"

"Yargh!" Firar articulated, "Faster, lass, faster!" he urged his pony, whose shorter legs were having trouble keeping up with her long-legged relatives.

Araphel whispered something to own mount, and the spotted horse tossed his head almost arrogantly and sprang away from Mychal, after Bronwe.

"Looks like we'll have to settle for third place-tied!" Kaylee shouted to Mychal as she pulled alongside.  "Then again, maybe not!"  Sparky had found a reserve of energy and rapidly decided to leave Mychal behind.

"Well, Bronwe, it seems that mortals are no match for elves," Araphel said lightly, drawing nearer to the chesnut stallion.  "But as to the race, I believe that you will lose."  And he and his gray, if possible, doubled their speed.

"Are you going to let him say that of you?" Bronwe asked her horse.  She gave him a little nudge with her heel and he sped up, matching Araphel and the gray step for step.  Looking over at Araphel, she said with a twinkle in her eye, "I would not want to push the poor animal, after all, he and I have just met."

"Oh yes, his fatigue is great," Araphel retorted, as the small grove loomed nearer.  His movements melded with that of his horse, and he pressed himself closer to his mount's neck.  "Once more, my friend.  Leave this Peacekeeper behind."  And they were off in another great spurt of speed.

"Do you get the feeling we're not even in this race anymore, Serela?" Firar asked his pony, who he had at last pulled back into a trot.  "Blasted horses.  Do not worry, my lass, you are still better than they."

Groaning slightly in frustration and merriment combined, Bronwe leaned forward and spoke softly, "Show me what you are made of.  Certainly you can outrun that mangy gray thing, can you not?"  She shifted her balance once more and gave the horse his head.  Taking advantage of the freedom, the stallion leapt forward and was off at full gallop. 

If the grove of trees had been further away, Bronwe might have caught, and possibly even overtaken Araphel.  Unfortunately for the Peacekeeper, she ran out of road and had to settle for second place.

"Pleasant ride," Araphel summed up as he jumped down and stroked his horse's head, thanking him quietly.  He did not bother tethering the animal, as the horse had agreed not to go anywhere. 

Indeed it was," Bronwe agreed, still sitting atop the horse.  She looked back to judge the distance between them and their companions, decided she had time, and turned her horse in a tight circle, heading around the trees, "And, as neither of us wish to remain still, we will walk for a while."

The Healer merely inclined his head as the thunder of Mychal and Kaylee's mounts' hooves grew louder.  "As you wish."

In truth, Bronwe needed some time to herself.  She was not used to company, and while the ride had been fun, the constant companionship was wearing on her nerves a little.  And, she told herself as they made their way around the grove, she didn't want her horse to catch a chill because he had no chance to cool down.

"Where'd Bronwe go?" Kaylee asked as she slowed Sparky to a trot, then a walk.  She let the horse wander for a few minutes to cool down as Mychal reached the trees and voiced the same question.

"If you would look, she is just beyond the grove.  She wished to walk her horse awhile," Araphel said.  "I think she unused to such companionship as ours."

Mychal snorted.  "As if any of us can help our present choice of friends."  He tethered his horse and dug through his saddlebags for breakfast.

The alive quiet enveloped Bronwe as they walked, both horse and rider bringing their heart rate down to normal.  She was a little annoyed with herself, not having won the race.  She always expected perfection, and to fall short was not a feeling she relished.  The silence was like a balm to her soul and a tiny piece of bitterness melted away.  There was only one problem with this world that she had noted so far: it reminded her far too much of home and...family.

There was no warning as the scenery around Bronwe blurred and changed ever so slightly...the sky became darker, and the trees older, more bent with age.  Behind her, though the Peacekeeper didn't know it, a round area of blue sky, sun, and four riders with horses looked promisingly upon the other, fouler world.  The gateway faded out of focus for a moment, and began to shrink...

The hair on the back of Bronwe's neck stood up.  Something was different: there were no birdsongs now, only strange popcorn-like sounds and the air was thick and foul.  Looking around, she noticed she was no longer riding beside the grove, she was on an old road, surrounded by trees.  She turned in her saddle to see a... doorway? to the grove.  What the..?  She could faintly see her companions settling down for breakfast.

A bang went off somewhere to Bronwe's left and her horse panicked, let out an almost human sounding shriek and reared suddenly.  It took all her concentration to stay seated and prevent the animal from bolting.

"What was-Bronwe!" Araphel cried, spinning and sprinting in the direction of the horse's panicked cry.  He saw the darkened circle in the air, and the Peacekeeper trying to keep control of her mount within it.  Dimly, he heard the pounding of hooves behind him.

"Grab hold, Healer!" Firar shouted, and the elf did not break his stride as he leaped astride the Dwarf's pony, ducking low as the pair shot through the shrinking portal.

"No!" Mychal and Kaylee were too late, as the hole writhed and collapsed, disappearing.  "Blast you, Shkena!" the Warrior cried, clenching his hands into tight fists, the muscles in his neck straining.

"That's it then," Kaylee said quietly, holding her arms tightly to herself.  "Who do you suppose they're after now?"

Mychal mutely shook his head.  "Beware the Leader or the Guide," he said simply.

[Key's A/N:  I've discovered this lovely little website called RuneScape and…well, most of my time gets spent there right now.  But as you can see Drew's done a spectacular job editing, and I've reviewed it, and here you go!  Please take all bathroom breaks before reading these chapters, folks, because they just keep getting longer.]

[Drew's A/N:  Apparently, my nagging Key's finally paid off and she's agreed to post another chapter. Yay me.  Please send your thanks in the form of certified checks, money orders or plain cash.  Tax receipts will be unavailable until the Tresmar year 3472.]


	28. Since When is War Civil?

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Since When is War Civil?**

Araphel ducked low to avoid leaving his head behind as Firar's pony hurtled onward, into a gray land where many sights and sounds assailed his keen senses. At first it reminded him of Kaylee's world...the alternate version. But life as yet thrived here, though not as much so as on Mychal's world. There was smoke, heavy in the air, and the sound of weapons-fire...like the weapons Magnum had used.

Firar slowed his mount as Bronwe's panicked horse wheeled unpredictably. Araphel jumped down lightly and ran to grab hold of the animal's bridle, heedless of the danger to himself.

Between Bronwe and Araphel, the stallion calmed down a little, though he still stamped and snorted nervously at each nearby 'bang.' Giving Araphel a relieved look, she glanced around, "What just happened?"

Firar leaned heavily over the pommel of his saddle, unused to riding at such speeds. "Your guess would be better than ours, Lady." He tried to untangle his windswept beard without much success. "But I would bet mud to money it was Shkena."

"Nay, I say Austus. He has a notable lack of style," Araphel said sourly.

Just as she was about to dismount, Bronwe noticed that they weren't alone. "I think we are surrounded," she said in an undertone.

"Mother's beard!" Firar whispered in surprise and shock, sliding down from his pony's back. "It's those fire-sticks again! Beware, Lady, they can hurt you without moving an inch!" Araphel turned, but did not relinquish his hold on the stallion's bridle.

Sure enough, a dozen or so men were slowly making themselves visible from the underbrush, each holding a loaded rifle, pointed at either Araphel or Firar.

"Well, well," said a tall, pimple-faced man, "What've we here?"

"Looks like some Confederate skedaddlers," sneered a shorter one, "And the poor lady looks like she's been through the ringer."

The meaning of the men's words was beyond Firar, but he knew when he could push his luck and when he couldn't. This time he most definitely couldn't.

Araphel raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "We mean her no harm--"

"Oh, puh-lease!" the first man rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on his gun, "It's completely obvious what's going on here. You two got yellow streaks a mile wide, ye ran and kidnapped this lovely lady. Ye made her wear the white dress as a truce flag so we'd let you get close then you'd ambush us and take our gear. Ye're out of luck, we ain't that dumb, and we ain't gonna fall for it."

"Again," the short one muttered under his breath, scuffing his boot. He was quelled by a fierce glare from the taller one and settled for narrowing his eyes at his prey.

Bronwe, of course, knew what a rifle was. She was also smart enough to act dumb. "Is there a problem, sirs?" she inquired politely.

"Ma'am," the tall one answered, "There's no need to keep up the pretense. We understand completely. My name's Murphy, and this here's Thompson," he used his shoulder to indicate his companion. "Don't worry, you're safe now. We'll take you to the Captain. He'll see you're rightly done by and that these...men," he nearly spit the word, "answer for their crimes."

The Dwarf's pony snorted and stamped, as if indignant at the idea of these men restraining her master. Firar calmed her with one rough hand. He knew they would not escape this rather sticky situation easily.

"I speak truly," Araphel added, motionless near Bronwe's horse. "The lady is with us, she is a member of our party."

"Please," Bronwe added, "they have done nothing wrong." Now she knew a little of how Araphel felt when she condemned him to the loony bin.

Thompson looked sorry for the lady, she was obviously afraid of retribution if she admitted her true predicament. He motioned for Araphel, "Release the horse's bridle and step away from the lady."

The Healer darted a glance at Firar, who was looking at him as if for information. Araphel was suddenly aware of the light weight of his necklace, and realized that the Keeper didn't understand what the men were saying. But that was not his immediate concern as he reluctantly loosened his grip on the horse, taking three steps away.

Keeping one eye on Araphel, Thompson walked towards Bronwe and reached to take Araphel's place holding the bridle. The horse, already unsettled by smoke and noise, reacted by trying to bite the soldier's hand and rearing. Thompson jumped back reflexively.

Bronwe waited until the horse placed his forefeet on the ground before jumping down and catching hold of the bridle herself. She whispered softly to the horse, and though his eyes rolled and his ears were flattened against his head, he did stand still. Only then did she give Thompson her attention. "He does not like to be touched by strangers," she said, a trifle smugly.

"Just so, lady, just so," Thompson agreed, keeping a safe distance between himself and the insane horse.

Murphy nodded to the other soldiers around the trio and the men melted back into the landscape. He tipped his head towards the prisoners, indicating that Thompson should look after them. That taken care of, he strutted over to Bronwe and took hold of her left arm, "If you will follow me, Lady--" He never finished his request.

Bronwe released the reins and, with lightning speed, whipped her arm around, hitting Murphy across the chest and knocking him off-balance. She then kicked his feet out from under him. As he lay, winded on the ground she looked down at him, unimpressed. "I do not like to be touched either. Sir," she added as an obvious afterthought.

Firar made a conscious effort to close his mouth. His first attempt failed. Luckily, he got his jaw in working order on the second try. The Peacekeeper wasn't as peaceful as she had first seemed, as if the demonstration with the knives hadn't been enough. He held his tongue, however.

In a pathetic attempt to regain his dignity, Murphy jumped to his feet and brushed himself off quickly. "So I see." He cleared his throat and bowed shortly, "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to my captain? I am sure he would like to make your acquaintance." It was obvious his politeness was just as forced as his smile.

"And what of my friends?" Bronwe inquired.

"Don't worry about them," Thompson answered, sounding distinctly ominous, "We'll take care of 'em."

Keeping her face impassive, Bronwe inclined her head to Murphy, gathered up the reins and turned to follow him. She paused, however, turning back to look at Araphel. _Do nothing stupid. We will get out of this together_, she thought, still not sure if elves from different worlds could read thoughts.

_It is not I who will act foolishly. I fear for Firar, however. His dealings with these kind of men were far from pleasant._ Araphel cast a covert glance at the Keeper, who was rigid with uncertainty. Sevineaux had instilled a fear of advanced humanity in the Dwarf, though Firar himself would never admit it. _Take no regard for us,_ he looked back to Bronwe, locking gazes. _Do what you must for yourself._

So he did understand her. Interesting. Bronwe nodded imperceptibly and followed Murphy towards a tent city, leading her horse.

Once Bronwe and Murphy were out of sight, Thompson turned to the pair, smirking. "Ye're lucky you ain't dead yet. We'll give ye a trial and all, we ain't uncivilized like 'y'all' are in the south," he said with contempt. With that, he prodded Firar with the tip of his musket. "Move. That way," he said, motioning for them to follow the Peacekeeper.

The Dwarf understood the gesture well enough, and firmly kept his pony's reigns in his hand as he did as he was told. Araphel followed, not saying anything, but memorizing their surroundings with a keen eye. Something told him that to try and talk to Firar about their current predicament would not be taken well.

With his gun trained on the spies, Thompson guided them through the rows upon rows of tents. He was met by a rather portly fellow who looked rather surprised and the small parade. "What's this then, Bill? More poachers?"

"No," Thompson replied, "These two were roughing up a lady just over there on the hill. She's all right, but they're gonna hang." He was enjoying this.

"I beg Master Thompson's pardon, but we were not harming her in any way. Lady Bronwe is a friend of ours," Araphel replied, a touch indignantly. Firar simply nodded for emphasis.

Turning to answer, Thompson stated firmly, "I know what I saw. She's lucky we got there when we did. And I know who you are. Ye're Confederate deserters. Spies. We hang spies."

Portly spoke up, "Um...Bill...neither of them're wearing gray...and they don't sound like they're from the deep south, neither."

"Scott," Bill glared, "Don't bother me with trifles. I know a spy when I see one, and right now, I see two."

The Healer sighed to himself. Why did these situations always seem to go against them? It was as if some higher power, Austus, most likely, deliberately put these kinds of obstacles in their way. "We are not spies," Araphel said patiently.

"Save it for the judge," Bill sniffed. Honestly, spies were so predictable. "Tie 'em up, Scott."

Rolling his eyes, reminding Araphel strongly of Kaylee, Scott rummaged around in a barrel, coming up with ropes and strips of cloth. Mumbling an apology to both, he then proceeded to tie their hands behind their backs and gag them both.

When Thompson was satisfied that they were no longer a threat, he lowered his gun and smiled. "Have a seat, gents," he said, as if welcoming them to his parlor. "Someone will be with you...eventually." And, leaving them in Scott's care, he about-faced and returned to his post.

_I am going to **kill**__Shkena__, or Austus, or whoever the addle-brained idiot is that brought us here!_ Firar thought to himself savagely as he strained at the bonds encircling his wrists. Not even able to understand a single word, how maddening! With the exception of Araphel, but it was rather useless to try and understand a one-sided conversation.

Bronwe and horse were brought to a slightly larger tent in the center of camp. The guard stepped in front of Murphy and spoke softly, though she heard every word. "The captain is...in conference, and is not to be disturbed."

Curious, Bronwe shifted her attention to the voices coming from the tent.

"I'm sorry, Captain," a young voice was saying, "but that way is blocked. The men can't possibly go that way. It's madness!"

"What is madness is ignoring my orders, Lieutenant!" came the outraged reply. "It is not your place to question me!"

"But sir, the horses can not make it through the swamp and not only the men, the canons will get stuck in the marsh!"

"Has it not occurred to you that I have already thought of that?" The captain bellowed.

The captain sounded a little stressed, to say the least. The longer she listened, though, the more confused Bronwe became. If she didn't know better, she'd be sure there was only one person in the tent...

Murphy sighed. He turned back to face Bronwe and said, "My apologies, Lady, but the captain is occupied." He looked nervous, as if hiding something. "If you would wait in my tent? Can I get you some refreshment? Some...hardtack? Or perhaps some ale?"

Thinking quickly, Bronwe came up with an idea. "No, thank you, but," and here she smiled, taking full advantage of blue eyes and dimples, "is there somewhere I might lie down? This afternoon has been rather trying."

"Of course." He nearly fell over trying to be accommodating. He reached for her arm before catching himself, "If you will follow me?"

Still leading her horse, Bronwe followed him to the tent next door. She looped the reins around a tree branch and ducked inside.

He snatched his hat off his head and rolled it anxiously in his hands. "I'm sorry we don't have more suitable lodgings at the moment..."

Bronwe assured him she'd be fine, thanked him graciously, lay down on the bed facing the canvas wall and closed her eyes. Murphy studied her back a moment before slipping out quietly. On his way back to his post, he mentioned to the captain's guard that she should not be disturbed.

The guard nodded and took a moment to glance at the door from where the woman had just disappeared into.

Forcing herself to lie perfectly still, Bronwe lay listening for all she was worth. She had the feeling that it was up to her to get all three of them out of...wherever they were.

Have I ever steered this unit wrong?" came the voice of the captain from the neighboring tent. It was so close to Bronwe's head now, she could not help but hear everything. "When have I put this unit in danger?"

"Well, there was the Battle of Five Forks, er... two months ago, sir."

**_Smack! _**"I did not!" the captain roared.

_Maybe he _isn't_ alone in there,_ Bronwe thought. But the voices were so similar.

That was one of my _triumphs!_ They did not take _one_ single fork from this camp! Nor spoon! And even _all_ the knives are accounted for! Five Forks was a success!"

"Yes, sir," the soldier said meekly.

"And now! This battle will top them all. The Battle of Nine Sporks!" There was a sound as if someone had just unveiled a war map. There was a pause in the conversation as most likely the lieutenant was absorbing what was just said.

"Sporks?"

"Sporks."

"I beg your pardon, Captain, but...what are...sporks?"

Bronwe knew full well what a spork was, but apparently the inferior officer did not.

"Inform the general that I have devised a plan to get us behind the Confederate line and will catch the Graybacks completely by surprise! _GO NOW!"_

Wonderful. She was in the middle of another war. What was this one about? Milk in bags vs. cartons?

There were sounds of feet shuffling but no one seemed to leave the tent.

Bronwe waited for another enraged outburst when the order wasn't obeyed immediately. None was forthcoming, however.

As there were no sounds of interest coming from the tent, she turned her attention to the dozens of other conversations around camp, trying to piece together what was going on.

Meanwhile, Araphel and Firar were still sitting miserably, hands tied uncomfortably behind them in the presence of one known only to them as Scott. The Healer sized the man guarding them up, before deciding that if he was going to be stuck in the middle of yet _another_ human skirmish, he wanted to know what it was all about. Unfortunately, with a gag in his mouth, such a thing was impossible…for the moment.

Firar was in no position to help him with his bonds, so he would have to free himself. Or...wait. Perhaps the little Keeper _could_ help him. In fact, he had already. Araphel had pilfered one of the Dwarf's small knives, and hidden it up his sleeve. With just the right application of sideways momentum and trusting to gravity...ah! The small blade slid into his hands.

Working the edge carefully against his bindings, Araphel tried not to twist and fidget overly in his chair as Scott selected yet another potato from his pile and set about removing its skin. There was neither sound nor warning as the ropes parted company, and he slowly brought up one hand to remove his gag, while secreting the knife in his sleeve once more.

Scott continued peeling potatoes, humming contentedly under his breath, completely oblivious.

Araphel cast one sideways glance at the still-restrained Firar before daring to speak. "Excuse me, Sir Scott. Might I inquire as to the cause and purpose of this battle?"

Scott jumped, dropped his potato and stared at Araphel open-mouthed. "I thought you were gagged!" he managed to squeak.

The Healer half-smiled. "I was. And I am still willing to be your prisoner, but all I seek is information." He sat back languidly, lacing his unbound hands in his lap in an almost-casual manner. "I promise you that I shall not leave."

Scott's eyes widened even further, if it were possible, "I could get into trouble, talking to you, sir." He was clutching his peeling knife tightly in his right hand, watching the prisoner warily.

At that, the Healer sat up straighter. "Why? Do we look like your enemies? Do we even appear to be from around this part of your world? I think not. Please, even if you do not believe me, there is still no harm in telling me why you fight."

Being blessed, as he was, with a good deal of common sense, Scott heard the logic in the stranger's words. He relaxed slightly and went back to peeling, still keeping an eye on the two others in the tent. "Well," he finally started, "I don't rightly know all the reasons we're fighting. I suppose there's more than one. The main one for me is... well, I don't think its right for one body to own another body, you know what I mean?"

The elf nodded, more to himself than to Scott. "Yes. And the people you fight, they are the ones who would condone this enslavement?" He cast a sideways glance at Firar, who, by the look on his face, wasn't following the one-sided conversation.

Scott nodded, "They seem to think it's they're God-given right. But it ain't right! The blacks are people too!" In his excitement, he was not paying close attention to his work and the knife slipped, slicing his thumb. Hissing in pain, he dropped the knife and wrapped his hand around the injured digit.

Immediately, Araphel crossed to the man. "I am a healer, allow me." He pressed his own thumb to the deep gash and closed it easily, wiping away the remnants of blood on the grass. "At least your knife is sharp," he said lightly, sitting back. "You would have a hard task if it was dull."

Scott sat, frozen, staring at Araphel, his face as white as the peeled potatoes in the pot.

The Healer regarded him, falling silent. A cold feeling crept over him, as if he had done something that he shouldn't. Kaylee had always taken such actions as his in stride...but this man was different. Had Araphel misjudged his safety on this planet? Thoughts of Magnum came to him, but he brushed them aside. It wouldn't happen like that again.

Scott finally found his voice, "Wh-wh-," he stammered. He swallowed and tried again, "Who are you?"

Araphel blinked somewhat owlishly at the question. "I...am a healer. My name is Araphel." The man looked prepared to bolt.

Finally managing to peel his eyes off the ...Healer, Scott looked down at his now perfect, if not a little bloodstained, thumb. He flexed it several times before looking back at Araphel. He tried again, "Who _are_ you?"

"I have told you. I am Araphel." The elf wasn't quite sure what else to say. That he had come from a different world? That he was a pawn in a game as yet unknown to him? Somehow he thought that would not go over well, so he said nothing else.

"Look, Arafel," Scott said, having found his voice, "I don't know anybody who can do what you just did. You...aren't from around here are you? ...are you Canadian, or something?"

"I...yes, I am." Any port in a storm, the Healer figured. "I beg your pardon for startling you so."

Somewhat relieved, Scott nodded. He had heard strange stories about their northern neighbors, and now he had a new one to add to his repertoire. He bent over and picked up the fallen knife, wiping it on his pant leg and swishing it through the fire to his right before picking up another potato. "S'alright, sir. Just wasn't expecting something...like that."

"Understandable." Araphel settled back in his chair.

Scott looked up and studied Araphel's companion. "Your friend, sir," he said, nodding towards the short man, "He says very little."

"My friend does not speak your language, good sir. We...Canadians," Araphel pronounced the word slowly, "have a different language. Please excuse him. Notwithstanding the fact that he is gagged."

"Oh, right," Scott replied, "French....or...is he an Eskimo?"

"French," Araphel bluffed, going with the first option. "What is to be done with us, do you suppose? We are not spies, nor are we involved in your battle."

Bronwe almost forgot to breathe. They couldn't! They wouldn't! ...yes, they would. She knew enough about a mortal's way of thinking to believe them capable of that, but... _Think fast, girl, they have little time left._

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes in case anyone was watching. She had to speak to the captain, now.

"But sir," a hushed voice insisted, "She might be a spy."

"Female spies?" an amused voice replied, "Rubbish. What will you think of next?" Bronwe recognized the second voice as the captain's guard and thanked her lucky star that prejudices sometimes worked in her favor.

Purposely making the cot squeak, Bronwe stood up and approached the tent door.

Suddenly a shriek of pain came from the neighboring tent. It sounded as if someone was either dying or being tortured.

She jumped, wondering what could possibly be happening. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the tent, only to be confronted by the captain's guard.

"Sorry, Miss," he said, standing in her way, "but I'm afraid the captain's still in conference and cannot be disturbed."

Bronwe tried to look concerned, not a stretch at the moment. "I just heard a horrible shriek. Is everything all right?"

"Yes Ma'am, everythin's under control." The guard tried to give a friendly smile, but ended in grimacing. "Are you feeling well, Ma'am? Are you hung'y or anythin'? Food's not great here but-"

"No, thank you," Bronwe interrupted, "I am fine. But I really do need to speak to your captain."

"Again, I'm sorry, Miss, but the captain gave orders that he wasn't to be disturbed. Are you sure you don't want any food?" the guard insisted.

"I have eaten," she answered vaguely. She was getting frustrated. "Please, it is very important."

"Ma'am, you don't know the capt'n. He gets right angry when he's disturbed, and he was downright insistent that--" The guard's warning was drowned out by another shout from within the tent, this one of terror.

She'd had enough. Faking a step to the left, she waited till the guard countered before whirling around to her right, walking past him and pushing open the tent flap.

The scene that met her eyes was completely not what she has expected to find.

The tent was simple enough; a thin, worn rug spread over the ground, a primitive cot covered in rough wool blankets in the far corner, several large bags under the bed that held a few changes of clothing, weapons were placed carefully on a small table near the foot of the cot. A large square table was in the centre of the tent and it was covered with a map of the surrounding area. On top of the map were tiny models of the two opposing armies and their current positions on the grounds. Sitting at the table, was none other than the captain of the army...who was playing with the tiny soldiers as if he were a small boy. The blue uniformed toy soldier that was in the captain's hand was seemingly jumping on a grey uniformed soldier that had been laid down on the table.

"I'm very sorry, you'll have to come back later," the captain said without looking up to see who was addressing him. Thinking it was just one of his soldiers, he just brushed off whoever it was. "I'm too busy torturing this Confederate soldier. He's nearly ready to talk."

After he finished speaking, his free hand lifted the small grey soldier slightly off the table, and let out yet another scream.

Not letting herself jump, and unsure what to make of the captain, Bronwe spoke quietly, "I beg your pardon, sir. If I might have a moment of your time?"

The captain looked up sharply. "A woman?!" He stood with surprising speed and turned to look at Bronwe standing in his doorway. After looking her up and down, his eyes stopped and rested on her...neck. "You _are_ a woman, aren't you!"  
  
She gave him an odd look. "All my life... sir." Something about him was...strange. Well, besides the obvious eccentricities. She studied him intently, trying to figure out what it was.  
  
The captain took off his dusty blue hat and bowed low to the ground. "A thousand apologies, my good lady. I did not realize that I was in the company of such a vision as yourself." When he stood up straight, he placed his hat on backwards and over his eyes. "Would you care to take a seat?"  
  
"Thank you," Bronwe said, somewhat puzzled. She sat gingerly on the edge of the cot and turned to look at the captain.  
  
After feeling around for the chair that he had just jumped out of, the captain sat down again. "My goodness, where are my manners? My mother would be ashamed of me." He stood back up, took his hat off, and once again, bowed low to the ground, "I am Captain Theodore Kelley." And he promptly hit his head on the table, knocking half of his army down. Clenching his eyes tightly shut as he rubbed his sore forehead, Captain Kelley groaned. He straightened again and gingerly sat back down at the table. He placed his  
hat in the middle ground between the two armies.  
  
Standing once more, Bronwe dropped into a low curtsey. "My name is Bronwe Mason, sir," she said, falling back on her alias, "and I have come to address the issue of…" Her voice trailed off. Was it her imagination, or was he...glowing? Of course not. It was a trick of the light. Obviously, this man had not bathed in weeks, perhaps longer. This whole 'changing worlds' business had disrupted her more than she'd care to admit.  
  
While rubbing his temples, trying to relieve himself of the very large headache he had just placed upon himself, he semi-turned towards Bronwe. "Sorry? My head must be ringing now. Too many bells rattling around there that I didn't catch that last half of your sentence."  
  
In for a penny, in for a pound, Bronwe thought irreverently. "My apologies, sir," she couldn't afford to annoy him by contradicting him. Not yet, anyways. "I said, I have come to address the issue of my companions. They have been wrongly accused."  
  
"Accused? Of what, good lady?"  
  
That gave Bronwe pause. What were the charges? "I believe, sir," she started uncertainly, "they were assumed to be spies, and there was a...misunderstanding which led your men to conclude my companions were trying to...harm me..." she finished rather lamely.  
  
"Spies, you say?" Kelley chuckled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not surprised. My men...let's just say, are not the sharpest swords in the armory...much to my dismay."  
  
Bronwe stomped down on the thought about the pot and the kettle being black. _I have_ got _to_ _stop thinking in cliches,_ she thought to herself. "So you believe me?" she asked hopefully. "You will release them?"  
  
"I am sorry. I do believe you for there's truth your voice, but I can't just release them like that. It's not that simple. I will do everything that I can to release them--I am captain after all--but they must stand a small trial. It's happened before. Your friends aren't the only ones that have been taken for spies, and very few have actually been hanged."  
  
Feeling a little light-headed, she sat down suddenly. It was now Bronwe's turn to pinch the bridge of her nose. Hanged...not good. She had a feeling the group needed their Healer and Keeper without stretched necks. And she didn't feel able to place much confidence in the captain's abilities of persuasion or logic. He had been beating up small metal soldiers only moments before, after all.

"Don't worry, Ms. Mason." Kelley looked at his map. "I'm sure that there isn't enough evidence to prove them guilty of being spies. Did you catch the names of the officers that took your friends for spies?"  
  
"A Mr. Thompson and a Mr. Murphy, I believe, sir," Bronwe answered, glad to know something for certain.

Kelley sighed. "Murphy...why am I not surprised?" he said more to himself than to Bronwe.  
  
Just then, a tall young man with reddish brown hair and moustache, dressed in a muddy blue uniform, entered the tent. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Capt'n, but you're needed for the trial of two spies we've discovered. Sergeant Murphy iz askin' for you."  
  
Kelley sighed again. "Very well. Thank you, Corporal, I will follow. Tell the Sergeant that I will be right there." As the soldier turned to leave, the captain put up one hand. "Oh, and Jimmy, one more thing." 'Jimmy' turned to face the higher officer to get the last minute order. "Tell Murphy that if he's finished with the corset, I would like it back, if he would be so kind."  
  
Jimmy blinked. "Uh...yes sir." He saluted and exited the tent.  
  
Bronwe blinked. Corset? This was going to be interesting.  
  
Kelley stood up again, placed his hat on his head the right way and turned to face Bronwe. "It looks as if it's time for me to play cavalry. Shall we, Ms Mason?" He bent slightly at the waist and offered his arm to her.  
  
Gathering her poise, Bronwe rose to take his arm. As he straightened, their eyes met and they both froze. Theystood there for a moment, not saying a word to each other.  
  
Kelley blinked, trying to absorb the thoughts that were now speeding around his mind. _Could it be?_  
  
For her part, Bronwe was trying to reconcile the klutzy, idiosyncratic man who played war in his tent with the reality before her. She was about to say something when the guard poked his head in the doorway.

"Sir," he said, hesitating when he absorbed the seemingly tender scene he'd interrupted, "Sorry, sir, but yer needed at the trial." With that, he beat a hasty retreat, vowing to himself that he had seen _nothing_ in the tent. Nothing.  
  
Feeling an awkwardness that he hadn't known in quite a long time, Kelley forgot himself, dropped his arm from Bronwe's hand and exited the tent alone and very quickly. _Not here. Not now. _

Bronwe stood still a moment before following him, feeling as stunned as he looked. Her thoughts were racing behind her impassive face. _So, Mr. Captain Theodore Kelley,_ she smiled to herself, _I know your secret. You are hiding, just like I am. The worlds just are not safe for elves anymore, are they?_

[Key's A/N: Thank you for choosing Shkena and Austus' Time Travel Service! This month's special: a journey back to the Civil War! Sure to impress all ages and species, including Elves, Klingons, and Dwarves! We hope you enjoy your 'blast of the past' and remember, there is no refund available, should you be mistaken for a spy and hanged. Thank you!]

[Drew's A/N: This just in: Readership is up, reviewership is down. Authorship morale is approaching all time lows. Please, send your support soon! Authors need feedback like athletes need endorsements. Or...something like that. Anyhoo, shameless begging aside, if you're still reading this, I'm assuming you're enjoying the story. Thanks for your interest. We'll try to stay worthy of your attention. Many hugs. D]

[AW's A/N: I take full responsibility for the blond elf moments. If you have any complaints, bruises or sore sides because of him, Drew's email is.... Ha! I hope you enjoyed his version of 'Risk', because, he certainly did. Keep an eye out for more of him in the next chapter... Do...or die.]


	29. Murphy's Law

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Murphy's Law**

_This must be a stupid human formality,_ Firar thought irritably to himself as he trudged slowly behind the ever-composed Araphel. _On **my**_ _world they would simply hang us, not fritter about with ceremonies!_

A lad with a drum headed the short procession, with soldiers in uniform on either side. They were all holding their fire-sticks, and Firar held his head up higher and straightened his backbone further. He was _not _afraid of these...boys with sticks. And might he shave off his beard if he was! The gray, bulky clouds scudded slowly overhead, and distant thunder rumbled ominously across the land. The Keeper repressed a shiver as a twisted, gnarled tree that had seen too many storms loomed before them, situated dominantly on a small hilltop. The nooses were already tied to the branches, swaying slightly in the breeze that had come up.

Araphel, flexed his newly-bound hands, knowing he could not hope to reach for the knife now. He did not see Scott anywhere in the gathered crowd, but he sensed the animosity and opposition in the air. Things would not go easily for them. But there were other concerns also weighing upon his mind. What of Bronwe? The soldiers that had separated them had seemed to have her best interests in mind, if they were a little misplaced. She was the Peacekeeper; was she even now working on a solution to their problem peaceably? If she was, she had better step up the pace!

As Araphel and Firar turned to face the sea of blue uniforms, the elf caught sight of a tall figure pushing his way through the crowd, led by Murphy. The man's uniform was more elaborate and decorated than any of the others, with a sword at his hip and a large hat on his head. But it was not this new figure that caught his attention as much as the fact that Bronwe was following him closely. A wave of relief swept through the Healer, though his expression never changed; the Peacekeeper was unharmed and there to hopefully negotiate their release, necks intact.

The Healer kept his eyes and ears open as the man drew closer, and suddenly, the same feeling he had experienced when he had first seen the Peacekeeper returned. This man...Araphel stared harder, willing him to meet his gaze. Suddenly the man's gray eyes met his, and Araphel could not help but show his surprise. Another elf...here?

When Captain Kelley caught a glimpse of one of the prisoners, he froze again. What were they doing here? He thought all other elves were against the war. Then again, they were caught unexpectedly, and were innocent travelers that just happened to get in the line of vision of a paranoid Union officer at the wrong time.

Kelley laughed inwardly. _Stupid Murphy.__ Why do you do stupid things? Because you're stupid. That's why_...

"Uh...excuse me, Captain, but why are you staring at the prisoner like that?"

Kelley was startled for a moment and looked at the speaker who had broken his mental berating of the lower and slower officer. He thought quickly.

"Oh...he just reminded me of a wash tub. You know, all grey and shiny. That's all."

"Uh...yes sir. I suppose he does, sir." The soldier walked away with a confused look on his face.

Bronwe was relieved to see Araphel and Firar were still safe, though not for much longer if the nutty captain couldn't help. A _washtub?_ She privately wondered if he'd ever worked with mercury. That might explain some things. Just then Murphy turned and addressed Kelley.

"I captured them outside of camp. They were using the lady here as their truce flag. They are clearly spies! They deserve to hang!"

Kelley nodded as he looked at the bound men and rubbed his chin. "That _may_ be true, but, one thing still plagues me...can I have my corset back?"

Murphy blinked. "Your...what...sir?"

"My corset." Seeing the bewildered look on the soldier's face, he sighed in frustration. "Don't tell me...you lost it, didn't you? That was my best one." Shaking his head, he began to walk away, to a chair that had been set before him with a 'front row seat' of the hanging as it were. "Now," he said as he sat down, "tell me the charges of these men."

Murphy trotted to keep up with the Captain, and stood at attention next to the chair, "Sir, these men are charged with kidnapping, spying, plotting to overthrow this camp, resisting arrest, being southern sympathizers and," with a quick glance at Bronwe, still standing nearby, Murphy concluded, red-faced, "_bothering_ the lady, sir."

Kelley watched the Sergeant rattle off the charges in silence. When he was finished, Kelly gently took off his hat and looked up at Murphy. "Right." He stood up, placed his hat on his chair and strode towards the men, whose lives were in his hands. "Kidnapping, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Kidnapping who?"

Murphy pointed at Bronwe. "The lady, sir."

Araphel choked on a strangled protest, forgetting for a heated instant that there was a gag in his mouth. He had no way of informing them of his and Firar's innocence, but as the captain turned to face him, he remembered there was one way...

_I do not know who you are precisely, Captain, but I and my companion are innocent of these charges._

Kelley smirked nearly inconceivably. _Friend, I would wink to right now, if I could, but... there are people watching. Peace... _He began to turn, but quickly looked back at Araphel. _Do try the biscuits. _And he turned to address Bronwe. "Ms. Mason, did these two men indeed kidnap you?"

The Healer was left to blink in disbelief at the captain's rather...odd remark. Yet he held his temporary peace, hoping things would play out in their favor.

"Of course not, sir," she replied, "They are my friends and were only trying to help me."

"Innocent on the kidnapping charge. Next...spying. What were they doing when you found them, Sergeant?"

"They were," Murphy paused to be certain of his words, "trying to take control of her horse, forcing her to cooperate with their plan. Fortunately for her, Thompson and I heard her calling for help and ran to rescue her."

Bronwe had to bite her tongue. First of all, she did _not_ panic and call for help—she was a better rider than that—secondly, this _Murphy_ was making up lies!

"And what was their plan _exactly_, Sergeant?"

"Why, to use her white dress as a truce flag and...enter our camp. They wanted our supplies. Everyone knows how the gray-backs are running out of everything, sir," Murphy looked a little uncomfortable under the cross-examination.

Araphel bit down on a guffawing noise. Murphy's story had more holes than Firar had knives. And from the elf's experience, that was quite something.

"And," Kelley emphasized his question with his hands, "you actually heard them say this? That they were using this lovely lady," he smiled at Bronwe, "as a truce flag?"

Murphy scrunched up his face, "Not in so many words, sir."

"'Not in so many words.' So, no, you did not hear that plan. How do you know that they were not just traveling when the lady's horse was frightened by the gun shots, spooked and they were helping her calm her horse?" Kelley paused to stare at Murphy. "How do you know, Sergeant?"

Shuffling his feet, he was forced to admit, "I don't know, sir. It all happened rather quickly."

"So, it is very possible that you jumped the gun, _again_,Sergeant?"

The sergeant looked pained. "Maybe?"

The captain nodded. "Ahhh...I see, 'maybe'." He put his hands behind his back. "Let's leave that there, for you cannot prove that they were in fact plotting against this camp, and move onto resisting arrest. Sergeant, if you were accused of something you did not do, when you were a stranger in a new place, what would _you_ do?"

Murphy sighed. "I suppose I would try to explain myself?"

"And if they didn't listen to your explanation?" Kelley crossed his arms.

"I would probably try to free myself?" The sergeant was beginning to sound uncertain.

"And I suppose that they would allow that?" The captain raised his eyebrows.

"No, sir," he replied, "I doubt they would." Murphy was feeling a little foolish now, and he didn't relish it. A suspicion took root in his mind.

Next, Kelley walked over towards the prisoners and pointed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Sergeant, but those clothes do not look at all like southern fashions. Do they to you?" He put his hand on his chin in mock-pondering. "Come to think of it, they don't look like there are from the North either."

Murphy stood silently; there was nothing to say to that...was there?

Bronwe watched the trial with interest. This was certainly not what she expected from the captain. He was completely competent. Appearances were deceiving indeed.

Araphel met Kelley's eyes. _Would you believe...we're Canadian?_

"Wait, I've seen those types of clothes on some Canadians I met before the war, in fact. Very suitable for travel. Canadians are nomads by nature." Kelley turned to the watching crowd. "That is, in fact, why we could not defeat them in the War of 1812; most of the time there were no cities to sack, their population being so small, and the other times, we could not even find the people!"

"But sir!" Murphy protested, "We _did_ win that one."

The captain turned sharply. "Did we? I must have not received that wire." He looked down, as if he was remembering something. "I …must have been …giving my dog a bath that day." He quickly turned to Bronwe. "Do you swear to God that you are telling the truth in this trial, Lady?"

Well, she was telling the truth, of that was certain. "I do, sir."

"Then, would you please tell the court," he said smiling kindly and indicating the spectators surrounding them, "what your position is on black slavery, Ms. Mason?"

Bronwe's breath was caught in her throat. Why was he doing this? She was going to get them all killed. Chewing on her bottom lip and praying she was giving him the answer he needed, she replied, "I am afraid I do not follow your politics, sir, but I do know that slavery, in any form, is morally wrong. No one should control the life of another."

Kelley clapped his hands once. "There you have it!" he exclaimed. "'Slavery in any form is morally wrong' is her position. Sworn under oath, in God's sight, I may add." He said, pointing to the gray sky. "Therefore she cannot be a southern sympathizer. Therefore, these men were not spying on the camp for any reason, for they are her travel companions and were accused falsely." He picked up his hat from the chair, dusted it off and put it back on his head. Sideways. "Release them," he finished with a wave of hand, "and return their possessions, as well as their animals, so they can continue on their journey." He started to walk away. "I shall be in my tent, working on my battle plans. This time I expect _not_ to be disturbed."

Bronwe watched, relieved as two soldiers stepped forward to untie her companions. _Well,_ she thought, _that was easy enough,_ and she smiled at Araphel.

Unfortunately for Bronwe, she had underestimated the laws of ironic narration; just as Kelly walked past Murphy, she heard the sergeant mutter, "Unless you're in league with them, _Captain."_

Kelley stiffened and halted several strides away from Murphy. The captain turned slowly turned to face the sergeant. He spoke slowly, making every word drip with hidden venom that had been brewing for a long time. "What did you say?"

The sergeant paled but didn't back down, "I said, maybe you were trying to free these here men because you're a sympathizer."

This time, Kelley tried hard not to talk through his teeth in anger, but he was nearly seething in rage. "I would tread carefully if I were you, Sergeant, or you may soon be introducing yourself as 'Private' Murphy."

Bronwe lifted her eyes from the pair to scan the crowd assembled. She was shocked to note many of the faces bore the same expression as the sergeant. Apparently, he was not alone in his suspicions.

Araphel tensed at the turn of the tide. Just when he had thought victory in their grasp, Sergeant Murphy had opened his rather oversized mouth...again. The soldiers that had been meaning to untie him and Firar stepped back slowly, watching the verbal jabs fly back and forth.

Knowing it was a serious offence to strike a superior officer, Murphy kept his hands at his sides, clenched in fists. "It all makes sense, sir," and the sarcasm was tremendous, "why we didn't do well in the last several battles. If I didn't know better, I'd say you was sabotaging our efforts."

Kelley was fit to be tied. Murphy had gone too far this time. Kelley had truly done his best in the battle plans, but sometimes the weather and sometimes it was the kid-glove boys like Murphy who weren't toeing the mark. "Is that so? How do I know it isn't you, Sergeant, that is our Jonah?"

Murphy purposely clasped his hands behind his back, to keep them away from his captain's neck in an action he would likely regret. The two prisoners watched, their eyes glued to him as the sergeant tried to formulate a response through his mounting rage.

Having seen more than her share of lynching, Bronwe recognized the signs. This did not bode well. Kelley had better regain control of the crowd, and soon, or Austus would have three dead group members on his hands. Why would he do this to them? Was he so bored that he required lesser beings to entertain him with near death experiences?

"Well, Sergeant," Kelley's eyes flashed in bottled anger, "since you fail to answer my question, that is certainly suspicious in itself. I have made note of late that you seem to be somewhat of a loose cannon; one who thinks he has better ideas than his superiors. Is that not so?"

Murphy lifted his chin in a defiant manner. "I say only what I see, sir. There isn't one of us here that hasn't wondered at your 'ideas.'" He loaded the last word with all the spite he could muster. "Sporks, corsets, _washtubs!_" His eyes were big and bugged as he shouted back at his captain.

A murmur of agreement rippled through the men and thunder rumbled again in the distance. The wind picked up slightly and Bronwe noticed a chill in the air. It was almost as if the weather was echoing the dispositions of the soldiers. The eerie atmosphere did nothing to calm her disquiet. If Kelley didn't do something soon...

The sergeant drew on the discontent of the crowd to fuel his audacity. "If you are the ideal model of a superior, Captain, then I am glad that I am not one! You haven't led us at all, you've only got us into more trouble than this war's worth!"

"And what have you done to help, Sergeant, other than spread your paranoia like a plague? The more you accuse people of being spies, the more it makes me wonder if you might be a spy yourself!" Kelly was no idiot and why he played one was his secret, but Murphy's suspicions were very reflective of the Salem Witch Hunts. Kelley had, in fact, been the Salem at that time, and that had not been a joyous time, but it certainly had been a learning experience. Learning that he would try to use to his advantage.

"Being paranoid is what keeps us alive out here!" Murphy shot back, unconsciously leaning towards the captain though he hadn't moved forward. "If I'm paranoid it's because my _superior_ can't handle things for himself and I've developed a sense of self-preservation!"

"Self-preservation!" Kelley shot back. "That sounds like someone who would turn their own mother in, if it meant saving his own worthless hide! Sounds exactly like the mentality of a traitor!"

The scene had gone from positive to pessimistic, and promised to descend from there. From the looks of things, the captain was losing control of both his emotions and the situation. Bronwe signed internally.

"No, sir," Murphy replied in a cooler manner. "We aren't talking about me. We're talking about _you_. And from the looks of things, not one of us here really has any faith in your judgment any more. I think the time has come for a little demotion. Bryce, Finn, seize the captain and tie him with the others, charges of insanity and consorting with the enemy!"

Bryce and Finn grabbed Kelley, and wrestled with him to bind his arms behind his back. "Murphy!" he bellowed. "You're a fool, Murphy!" A third soldier joined in to restrain the captain. "You're only weakening the Union army by doing this! Turning everyone against each other!" His words were muffled as he was thrown to the mud and bound.

- - - - -

"Shkena, dear one, you know I love you and all that sappy nonsense, but what _are_ you doing, stacking the deck against them like that?" Austus was watching the whole scene unfold before him while nibbling on a pear. "Did you have any purpose for allowing Murphy to be so dunderheaded?"

His wife didn't spare him a glance as she fussed and played with her miniature silver figurines, prominently displayed on a large map, not dissimilar to the one Captain Kelley had been using in his tent. "Because I'm going to see if this Peacekeeper of yours can do her job, you silly man. She is untested, and I could think of no better way to judge her mettle. Do not worry, if things go ill I'll simply pop them out and back to the Dwarf's world." She waved a slender hand sparkling with jewels dismissively.

"That crowd's not going to listen to her," Austus warned, taking another bite. "They're too militant as it is."

Shkena smiled to herself almost absently, brushing her fingers against a portly figure, still holding a potato-peeling knife. "I hold the voice of reason right here..." and she leaned forward and whispered to the statue...

- - - - -

"...all's I'm saying is it'd be foolish to string 'im up with the rest," Scott said, stepping forward to meet Murphy. "Choose one of them to speak on their behalf, the lady. She hasn't offered us any trouble, and she's hardly spoken a word. Let's hear what she has to say before we go doin' things we can't take back in hindsight."

Murphy looked between the three trussed men and the white-clad woman who stood tall, her emotions carefully concealed. His anger had started to cool, and grudgingly he nodded, seating himself in Kelley's abandoned chair.

Bronwe felt the weight of the crowd's gaze fall upon her, as well as the fate of the three men behind her. Surely she had been in a tighter situation...she just couldn't remember when. Gathering up everything she had overheard while 'napping,' she glanced at Kelley, Araphel and Firar, as if to ask for last minute instructions.

Kelley had calmed down a little since his 'capture', but he was still very put out at Murphy for pulling this stunt the day before the attack. He had to remain calm, something he had failed at moments before, and looked Bronwe in the eye. _These men are proud, so they value honor. They also have family that they are protecting, as they should. And right now, they are forgetting exactly what they are fighting for. _Kelley's face was now emotionless. _They are not very educated, but they know their morals._

Bronwe turned to look down at the crowd gathered around the foot of the small hill. The men in front of her were angry, irrational and in the grips of mob mentality. If she wasn't careful, if she couldn't turn the tide in their favor, Firar, Araphel, Kelley and likely she would all be hanged. No pressure.

Drawing herself to her full height she looked over the men and began speaking in a soft voice that carried on the wind. "My good sirs," she started, "while I do not follow your politics, I do know that you fight for a noble Cause: the liberation of a people, held in bondage, forced to live under dreadful conditions." Here, her voice nearly cracked; this was hitting too close to home. She took a steadying breath and continued earnestly, "You say these men are deserters. Will you twice condemn a man, or even two, for thinking for himself? How can you, in good conscience, sentence them to death for first believing and taking a stand for what they were taught from childhood as Truth, and then, when they re-evaluate the Truth and find it lacking, how can you again condemn them to death? Yes, the lie they were told is atrocious, but the fact that they realized it was a falsehood should mean something."

The crowd had simmered into a reverent silence, and Firar himself listened, spellbound. Bronwe appeared as an angel before lowly creatures, her tongue as silver to the listening ear. He knew now what had been going on, piecing it together from Araphel's conversation with the potato-peeler and Bronwe's speech. How could he have doubted her ability as Peacekeeper?

Kelley watched in silence as Bronwe held his former soldiers' attention with her arguments. She was well-spoken and well-versed in negotiating to illogical mobs. _Keep going,_ he urged the back of her head.

"And what of their families?" the Peacekeeper continued, noticing the change in her audience. "These men may have wives and children at home. Who will provide for them if their fathers are taken away? Can you send those families into poverty, starvation and illness over an Idea - even a _bad_ Idea?

"This country was founded on the notion that everyone was to be given life, liberty and a chance for happiness. Those are noble statements and are well worth fighting to maintain. But if you chose to condemn these men for the Idea, then you take away not only _their_ life, but _your_ reason to fight. In taking away their liberty, their ability to choose which side to fight for, you diminish your own Cause."

Murphy's eyes narrowed as he took in the change in the crowd around him. His own suspicions were beginning to ebb, and he slowly felt himself swayed by the lady's argument. Was it true that he had forgotten about the bigger picture in his action to ensure better leadership? Then he sat back, crossing his arms hostilely over his chest. Or was the lady simply trying to personally discredit him? Murphy couldn't simply rescind his actions; there would be consequences for his brashness. But the other soldiers were no longer on his side. They were wavering on a dangerous middle-ground, taken in by the serpent-tongued woman's speech.

"Don't listen to her!" he yelled, springing to his feet. "She could be telling us simply what we want to hear!"

Having kept an eye on the troublemaker, Bronwe was not shocked when he attacked her argument. She kept her face carefully blank, knowing from experience that to react would provoke him further.

Murphy simply stood there, quivering with uncertainty as the woman refused to rise to his bait. Her blue eyes were locked on him in a manner that made him feel as if he were a small child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The thought came to him that it was too late to back out now. He had begun his accusations against her...why not finish them before she took the other soldiers' support from him completely?

"Listen to me, all you men!" he shouted. "Clearly this woman is on the side of these three! She was found with the first two, and they are likely all spies! No one would suspect a lady spy, would they?"

Murmurings arose among the ranks. The sergeant continued, "This is all a Confederate plot to get our battle plans and win the day in the coming fight. We can't listen to them, _any_ of them!" He paused, and leveled a finger at Bronwe. "Especially _her."_

Kelley had completely calmed down and now was shaking his head. _Listen to yourself, Murphy. Would you just stop and listen to yourself? You've gone completely mad!_

Bronwe stood on the hill, the wind whipping her hair about her face. This change in the audience did not bode well for the four on the hill. She could feel her temper approach its boiling point. This man was an idiot. She refused to argue with idiots; they only lowered her to their level and beat her with experience.

From her vantage point on the hill, Bronwe was the first to observe a strange parade approaching. Several uniformed officers were leading a short, withered older woman. The lady was apparently leaning on the tall man at the front of the procession, using her cane to emphasize her gestures, swinging it wildly.

Drawn by her focus, several soldiers turned to see what was behind them. One or two started snickering, though they quickly disguised it as sneezes.

Murphy suddenly stiffened where he stood and pivoted very slowly on one heel. His eyes bulged and his throat constricted, allowing him to make only choked squeaks. He suddenly appeared to shrink in stature to that of a young boy as the procession drew closer.

As he saw who was leading the procession, Kelley suddenly stood up at attention, even though his hands where behind his back. Since not everyone had his vantage point _and_ recognized who had just arrived, training and current rank took over and he did what protocol demanded. "Attention! Colonel Larson has arrived!" Although the announcement had come from the unofficially demoted officer, they still had to acknowledge that Colonel Larson had indeed arrived and all stood straight. Some saluted.

Murphy shot to attention with the rest, even though the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him want to turn and bolt. He had a suspicion that he knew why they were here. But he was a soldier, and a sergeant at that! He would stick to his guns; he always did, for good or ill.

A small, round-shouldered man shambled his way to the front, trailed by two beefy men who were cracking their knuckles as if they had never heard of arthritis. "So, y'see, Colonel Larson, sir, according to Widow Murphy's story, and the constant evidence the subject has displayed, I, as the chairman of the Hansburg Insane Asylum must _insist_ that the subject is permanently detained, for the safety of society."

Bronwe stood still, watching the developing scene with interest. If the sergeant's face was anything to go by, he was in a lot of trouble. She struggled to keep her expression blank and impassive, managing to keep her turbulent thoughts hidden...for now. Having no idea what was happening, she needed to be ready for anything.

Colonel Larson finally cleared the soldiers now that they weren't blocking his way. He began looking around the crowd. "Captain, I was wondering if you would-" then he saw what was happening. "What in blazes is going on here!" he exploded. "Murphy, what in Sam Hill do you think you're doing? Why is my captain up there? My captain and he's blasted _good_ one, too! Explain yourself, Sergeant!"

Murphy put on his best stalwart expression, though inwardly his insides were like jelly. "He is a traitor, Colonel. He was conspiring with these three strangers against us, giving our battle plans to the South!"

The asylum director interrupted, gasping with his wheezy voice. "That's exactly what I mean, Colonel. Suspicious of everyone and everything. Common trait nowadays, but you see how dangerous 'tis!"

The short, silver haired woman's face contorted as she choked back a sob, the Colonel politely handing her a clean handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes and gave her nose a satisfying honk before glaring at Murphy and waving her cane. "He thought_ I_ were a spy!" she wailed, displaying several prominent missing teeth, "Me! His own mother! Me, what sat up nights wid him when he had them measles, thinking he wouldn't live through de night." She swung her cane wildly, causing Larson to back away to avoid being brained. "Locked me in de root cellar, he did! Weeks ago! Would've died, too, if t'weren't for the taters and apples."

Araphel and Firar strained their necks to exchange bemused glances with each other. Things might finally be going in their direction. It would be a pleasant change.

Larson nodded. "There, there, Mrs. Murphy," he said as he dodged the flying cane again. "I _assure_ you we will get this matter straightened out." He paused to give the sergeant a hard look. "And would someone cut my captain down from there!" he ordered.

Murphy was forced to step out of the way as twenty or so soldiers stampeded Kelley's position, all eager to set him free before the wrathful eyes of a superior officer. He gulped again, his mouth dry. "Y-you see, it is quite explainable, Colonel..." he began.

"Ah, yes, now comes the justification," the stooped man said, nodding sagely as he absently clasped and unclasped his hands, studying his new 'subject' with a cold, appraising eye. "Have you seen all you need to, Colonel?" His knobbly fingers were practically twitching with eagerness at getting to study the sergeant.

Seeing that she was not needed, Bronwe stepped back, trying to make herself invisible; a tricky job, as she was wearing a long, white gown and she was the only woman, not including the illustrious Mrs. Murphy.

Speaking of Mrs. Murphy, she was still dabbing at her eyes and waving her cane. "How could you do dis to me, Mervin? Me, yer own mother!"

"You were selling information to the South," the sergeant countered, suddenly realizing how weak his arguments sounded. "And then… you refused to … let me join the army!"

"Absolutely crackers, that one," the asylum director cackled gleefully. "May we take him away now, Colonel?" he begged again.

Larson's jaw was set and he nodded. "You may. Take him."

The old man smiled in triumph. "All right, get 'im boys." The two muscular men accompanying him needed no further urging. With devilish grins on their faces, they advanced on Murphy.

"No, no, wait! I'm not crazy, I'm not! I'm just trying to defend my country..." Murphy tried to run, but he was too late. One of the meatheads dealt the sergeant a heavy blow that made him sag, unconscious. Then, they dragged him away.

_And there's the end of that!_ Firar thought, grimly satisfied. Now to convince the others to untie him when he didn't understand a word of their language. That would be a true challenge.

Kelley rubbed his wrists from where the ropes had been tight against his skin. He turned to face his fellow prisoners. "Release them as well, though keep watch over them." The soldiers nodded and began to cut the bonds that held Araphel and Firar.

As the captain approached Colonel Larson, he saluted and then smiled. "Beg your pardon, Colonel, for state of my uniform, but the soldiers thought I could use a good mud bath."

Larson chuckled. "That's all right, Captain, I'm just glad that the execution wasn't completely carried out by the time we had arrived."

"So am I." Kelley indicated Bronwe. "You have Ms. Mason to thank for that. She was the one who was...er...defending my life after the trial fell apart."

Finding herself the center of attention, Bronwe refused to get flustered, nodding slightly in acknowledgement of the statement.

The colonel bowed respectively. "You indeed have my thanks, Miss, that I still have a captain."

Bronwe inclined her head, "I am glad I was able to be of assistance."

Araphel and Firar, meanwhile, were rubbing circulation back into tingling fingers and attempting to swallow the gags' taste from their mouths. After clearing his throat a few times, the Healer dared to venture, "What will you do with us?" He looked between the colonel and the captain, unsure of who to address with his question.

Captain Kelley stepped forward and addressed Araphel. "I would like to ask you a few questions in private if it is not too much trouble. I hope you don't mind just a slightly longer delay to your travels."

_There is that feeling again_, Araphel thought to himself. He smiled slightly. He had a nagging hunch that all of his 'travels' were on the captain's behest. And he wouldn't be too surprised if a glowing demigod showed up sooner or later. "Of course," he replied, offering a half-bow. "It will be my pleasure."

Captain Kelley smiled. "Excellent." He turned back to the Larson. "I thank you, Colonel, for coming to my aide when it was most urgent, and I would love to share a cup of cold tea and all, but I _do_ have a battle plan to iron out. I'm sure it'll meet your approval."

"It always does."

Kelley turned to some of his men. "Francis, Phillip. Please help escort these gentlemen to my tent." Saluting the higher officer, Kelley picked up his hat from the mud and motioned to Bronwe. "Ladies first," and offered his arm.

She forced a small smile and gingerly took his arm, trying to avoid the very muddy spots. Bronwe had a feeling this was going to be an interesting meeting.

"Now that I have my tongue back," Firar growled low to Araphel, "it would be a good idea to explain matters."

"There is no time, Master Dwarf," the elf hissed back in reply. "Keep your eyes and ears open, but not your mouth. Allow me to do all the talking."

The Keeper harrumphed. "As if anybody but you or the lady would understand me." He crossed his arms and stumped after Araphel somewhat angrily, keeping a wary eye on the guards. He was the only one not forced to duck as they entered a low canvas tent that was sparsely furnished, but appeared well lived-in. Firar found he liked the grubby, homey air.

Upon entering his tent, Kelley promptly took off his hat, picked up what vaguely resembled a hair brush, untied and began brushing the now dried mud from his long white blond hair. "Stupid Murphy." He looked up and saw that the guards had also entered the tent as well. "You may wait outside; I can handle this." The guards saluted and exited. Then, to his guests, "Please, have a seat."

The Healer cast about for a vacant seat and, at last, settled gingerly on the edge of the cot, motioning discreetly for Firar to join him. The dwarf, for once, obliged the elf and said nothing. "What do you wish to know from us?" Araphel asked quietly, looking at Bronwe.

While brushing his hair, he looked sideways towards Araphel. "I want only to do my own, reasonable investigation without a paranoid officer always looking over his shoulder."

"Amen to that," Araphel muttered in a not-so-quiet voice. "I will admit to being somewhat alarmed at that particular turn of events. But I stand by what I said earlier: we are not part of your war; we are here merely by accident."

Kelley straightened and pushed his hair, now free of as much mud as possible, back behind his shoulders. "And I believe you, so have no fear of me. For what person, or elf in this case, would knowingly and willingly travel on or near a battle field, even if they _were_ a spy?"

The Healer leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "True enough," he conceded. "But our truth is even stranger, and I have the vaguest notion that soon you will become a part of it." The feeling he had first experienced after seeing Kelley had not abated; it had intensified. If Austus really did appear, things would surely turn interesting...

Bronwe, standing by the door, had been content to blend in with her surroundings. At these words she listened more intently. No one had explained anything to her, and her knowledge of the situation was limited to job descriptions. And it would give her something to think on and would, perhaps, give her time to quell the tremors that were running through her limbs.

Kelley gave Araphel an odd look. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. If you expect me to leave with you, I'm afraid I can't. If you hadn't noticed, I have an army to run and a Cause to fight for."

Bronwe smirked internally. Boy, did _that_ sound familiar.

"I can't just go gallivanting around the country side with two elves and a midget with no particular purpose."

"Actually, Captain, I'm not giving you a choice," a smooth tenor voice broke in. Araphel, Firar, and Bronwe all turned to see the shining form of Austus standing at the flap of the tent. "Your troops will be well in hand, I assure you."

_Austus__ Is he **trying** to give me a heart attack?_ Bronwe thought, shaking a little more noticeably. _We need to make him wear bells or something, so we can hear him coming._

Kelley spun around to see who had just spoken. Standing there and glowing slightly was a tall, muscular, bronze-skinned man; _definitely not a Canadian_, Kelley concluded. "Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get past my guards?"

Austus merely smiled his infuriating all-knowing smile. "I have a proposition," he began, completely ignoring Kelley's question. "This world does nothing for the purpose of sitting and chatting. I propose that we adjourn to a more...comfortable location. I give you the blink and a half of an eye to gather whatever you feel you need."

Kelley blinked, then realized very quickly that he had wasted more than half of the time that this unknown and _very_ silent visitor had given him. He stepped towards the cot on which two former prisoners where perched, grabbing a satchel containing his pistol, a small supply of gun powder, a bag of bullets, and his boot knife, thankful his sword was still on his belt. He then reached for his hat.

Too late. Austus snapped his fingers and the world dissolved in flash of blue light. When vision and reality returned, the four travelers found themselves in a structure resembling a Greek temple... buoyed on clouds. Austus waved his hands genially at all the soft, silken furniture strewn around before seating himself in luxurious chair and plucking a stem of grapes from a bowl.

Kelley looked around him, wide-eyed. He was in the most serene place he had been in a long time, and here he had an arm-full of weapons; he enjoyed the irony quite a bit. He chose a soft arm chair to sit down and quietly started to arrange his weapons around his person.

Perching herself stiffly on the edge of a chaise-lounge, Bronwe looked around. She tried willing herself to stop shaking, and when that didn't work, she tried not thinking about the upsetting ideas. To distract herself, she took to studying her new surroundings. The whole room, if it could be called a room, radiated peace, tranquility, and rest. It was just what she needed.

Firar settled himself on a silk pouf, too used to random changes to worry about anything. As long as it meant that he wasn't tied up, and that he could talk freely, the Dwarf felt that he had no problems. Well, not any large ones, at any rate. There was that nagging problem of Araphel having one of his knives...

The Healer, for his part, was not completely at ease, but he hid it behind a façade of calmness and expectancy. Austus had never done something like this before, to sit down with them in a conference session. He sat gingerly, waiting to see what would happen.

Austus swallowed his grapes and washed them down with a goblet of nectar. "Please, eat," he bid his guests. "I know you are all wondering why you are here, and the answer is simple: meet your Leader." He gestured broadly to Kelley.

Bronwe blinked. The _Leader?_ No way! He was too...off his rocker. _Then again, _she thought, _we're all a little unusual, perhaps he'll fit right in._

Kelley looked up from the bag of gunpowder he was attaching to his belt. "What?" See that it was he who was being indicated, he stood and took a step towards Austus. "I beg your pardon...er...sir, but I would like an explanation as to why I was just taken from my Union camp and brought here, upon your whim."

"My whim, you say?" Austus snorted into his goblet. "True enough, but I will not force your head to explode with the monumental details that you cannot possibly understand. Suffice it to say that there is much more going on here then you can fathom, and let us move on to pleasanter matters, shall we?"

That answer did not please Kelley at all, but he knew pursuing further would be a dead end. He sat back down, scowled and tried to hope the answers he was searching for would be held within the conversation.

Austus popped another grape into his mouth before continuing. "Quite simply, you have been gathered from your world to serve a vitally important purpose: you are to lead a band of select people on a dangerous quest."

Kelley sat up, even straighter than before. "What type of 'dangerous quest'? And for what purpose?"

Araphel and Firar, feeling that any conversation on their part would be superfluous, (though Firar was happily surprised that he could understand the Leader now) decided to keep quiet. The elf was secretly pleased that his instinct had not led him astray once more.

"The purpose is not for you to know," Autus said simply. "And the quest will be revealed in time. However, I do have something for you…and for you as well, Keeper." He closed one large hand and then opened it again. Three necklaces lay on his palm. One had a red stone, similar to Bronwe's. The other two held deep amethyst-colored gems.

"And what am I to do with them?" Firar asked, as the two with violet stones were passed to him. "Mychal and I have no need of these language devices."

Austus steepled his fingers together, having handed Kelley his pendant. He looked shrewdly over his fingertips at the Keeper. "Not yet," he said cryptically.

Kelley looked at the necklace and raised an eyebrow. "This is a language device? Looks more like a piece of high-class _woman's_ jewelry."

The demigod sipped from his goblet once more before replying, not the least put off by the captain's slur. "If you choose not to wear it, then it is upon your own head. Though I guarantee things will go much smoother if you do. Keeper," he said, nodding towards Firar, "I have final instructions for you before the second phase of this quest begins. You are at the brink of the end of the beginning. You must seek the Mystic Wood across the sea that lies to the west, for there the Guide shall be found."

Araphel noted the way Firar's eyes widened suddenly, then narrowed just as quickly. The Dwarf knew what Austus was talking about... and it didn't look like he enjoyed the prospect too much.

Bronwe had, until now, remained silent, choosing instead to study her companions. Taking a deep breath, she ventured, "Pardon me, but I have a question."

Austus nodded, swirling the remaining dregs of his drink around in his goblet. "Ask it, Peacekeeper."

She looked directly at the demigod, speaking quietly but clearly, still trying to control the shaking. "You have mentioned a quest. And we all have...titles," she paused and Austus nodded again, "I understand the need for a Warrior, a Scout, a Healer...even a Keeper," she smiled slightly at Firar, "but what am I to do? I am quite certain there is someone else, someone better-fitted for the role." She had no wish to openly call the demigod on his mistake, but she was, quite possibly, the most _un_-peaceful person she knew.

"Well, quite bluntly," Austus said, setting his cup aside with a _thonk_, "there _was_ someone else, but they died, unfortunately. And do not worry, Madam Bronwe," he smiled and patted her hand, causing her to jump slightly, "you will have many an opportunity to use your gift. I know it is there...and someday you will see it too. Hopefully someday soon." He purposely failed to mention she was better fitted for the role than his first choice. No reason for _her_ to know that. He turned to all the others. "Last chance for questions, comments...any muttered insults...? Anyone?"

Willing her face to impassivity, she seethed inwardly. _Second_ choice? Again? It was a gift to come in runner-up? She was sick of playing second fiddle. One of these days...

"One question, sir, if you don't mind." Kelley spoke up.

"Ah, I have a taker." Austus leaned forward slightly.

"Why us?" he said, simply.

"Why not?" Austus retorted, just as simply. And then, he seemed to recede before their eyes, and the temple-like structure with him, surrounding the foursome in crushing darkness.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jonah: Someone bringing bad luck.

- - - - - -

Key's A/N: This was Drew's idea! I guess she figures that we're on a roll with posting, why stop now? Have to say I agree, since this was actually completed quite a while ago…but hey! Real life gets the best of all of us, I'm sure. Happy reading!

Drew's A/N: Tada! Yay us! Now that we've got a posting system in place, we may actually post new chapters more than once a year. Enjoy.

AW's A/N: Someone is actually reading this? You're not dead from boredom? -:jaw drops:- Simply amazing.


	30. Getting Inn Trouble

**Chapter Thirty – Getting Inn Trouble**

"For the last time," Kaylee bellowed, her face red and her hair hanging in her face, "I am not--" she paused mid tirade as four dishevelled figures dropped heavily to the floor from midair. Three she knew, the other she did not. In the absence of the three known people, she and Mychal had taken up temporary residence in the largest room available at the local inn. They had promptly gotten into a fight soon after, but it had just been interrupted.

Mychal was speechless, for the time being. He helped the nearest person, Bronwe, to her feet. "What the what happened?"

The Peacekeeper nodded to him and then gestured somewhat abruptly to the blond elf still lying on the floor, "Meet the Leader. Captain Theodore Kelley, of the Union army."

"A pleasure, I'm sure." Kelley said from the floor.

The Warrior cocked his head at the heap on the floor Bronwe had addressed as the Leader. "What did he say? Does he even speak our language?"

"None of us speak each other's languages, so it's a moot question anyway," Kaylee said, still a bit miffed. "He said, 'A pleasure, I'm sure.' Hey, didn't Shkena give him a necklace?" She set about hauling Firar to his feet, as the Dwarf was making no move to do it on his own.

Still on the floor, Kelley pulled the tiny necklace from his pocket and looked at it. "So, that's what this thing does? It actually has a purpose? Will wonders never cease. No one ever tells me these things."

"As I recall it," Firar piped up, adjusting his crooked helmet and brushing his beard out of his eyes, "Austus told you exactly what it was. A language device. And you and I, my friend," he said, speaking to Mychal, "have got them as well." He gently removed the silver trinkets from an inner pocket and handed one to Mychal. "We do not need them yet, but Austus suggested we might in the near future."

"I...see," said the Warrior, not really seeing at all.

Bronwe was in no mood for circular arguments or conversations. All she wanted was solitude and silence. Guessing she would be granted neither in the next few hours…or days, or weeks, or what have you, she settled for placing a chair in the furthest corner of the room and sitting herself down on it. She rested her elbows on her knees and hid her face in her hands. She knew the warning signs: this flashback was going to hit her hard.

Having put his necklace on, Kelley lay contentedly on the floor in a relaxed manner. "Sooo... can anyone tell me what's going on, since that mysterious magical man didn't?"

Kaylee flopped belly down on the end of the bed, ignoring Mychal's glare in her direction. She tapped the toes of her boots against the wall next to the bed as she answered idly, "What's to know? I expect the magical man told you about the same thing he told us: we've been selected to go on a quest. We all have titles to fill, and we all come from different worlds. We won't know what the quest is until...well, I guess until Shkena or Austus explains it to us."

Kelley simply nodded. "Fair enough. Just wanted to know if it was as clear as mud for everyone else. Thank you." He turned to Kaylee. "I don't believe that we have been properly introduced; my current name is Theodore Kelley, but my given name is Valimyr. How do you do."

"And the Leader at large," she added. Then a silly expression crossed her face, and she laughed. "Pleased to meet you, Teddy. I am Kaylee the Scout at your service." She waved her hand in a flourishing manner.

Araphel was looking concernedly at the huddled form of Bronwe in one corner, but something prevented him from attempting to talk to her. Maybe she wanted some time to herself. He settled himself on the floor, against the wall opposite the bed, near Kelley's legs. The elf began to sharpen the knife he had nicked from the Keeper as he introduced himself. "I am Araphel, the Healer."

Kelley smirked. "I suppose it's a better title than Araphel the Hanged, eh?"

Firar interrupted. "So, Leader of Many Names, what are we to call you? Do you prefer your human name, or your given name? Or shall we make up a new one for you?" He spoke gruffly, but he was rather beginning to take a shine to Kelley.

"Oh, any name will do. I have been several people in the past, so it doesn't matter to me what you call me, so long as it is appropriate." He looked at Kaylee and winked. "Even humanistic nick names. But I suppose you can call me Valimyr; I do like that name."

The Keeper nodded to Valimyr. "Well then, Valimyr, I am Firar, Keeper of this band of miscreants. And the lady Bronwe is the Peacekeeper."

Valimyr looked in the corner at the huddled figure. "Is she all right? She doesn't look too well."

Now Bronwe had everyone's attention, though she couldn't tell. Kaylee and Mychal exchanged worried glances; Firar took a step forward before faltering. It was Araphel who dared to rise fluidly from his seat and softly approach the slightly trembling elleth.

"Bronwe?" he asked softly, hesitantly reaching out to touch her shoulder.

Startled, she gasped and jumped to her feet. Taking a shaky breath, she looked at him, lost and confused, then managed to whisper, "Amdir?" Before Araphel could react, Bronwe's expression changed and she flew at him in a desperate rage, pounding his chest with her fists. Amidst the seemingly incoherent rantings, Araphel thought he caught the words, "Why didn't you stop them?"

The Healer caught Bronwe's wrists in a firm grip, not understanding what her dreams had been, but knowing that she didn't react against him personally. Silence had fallen over the room as the others watched the two elves in the corner, the only noise the gentle drumming of spring raindrops.

After struggling against his grasp a moment longer, she looked up and their eyes met. She froze, a similar reaction to their first meeting. Awareness, then acceptance flickered in her eyes. She took a few deep, steadying breaths and attempted to mask her face once more. Stepping back, she tugged lightly on her wrists, saying somewhat awkwardly, "My apologies, Araphel..."

"None needed," he replied softly, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?"

Sighing, Bronwe shook her head, "No, there is nothing to be done, but I thank you for the offer." Obviously making an effort to move on, she forced a smile and was about to say something when she paused, tilted her head slightly and stood as if listening.

Araphel was hesitant to look away from the rapt Peacekeeper, but he couldn't help glancing at Kaylee in bewilderment, she being the only other female in the room. The Scout simply shrugged, staring in bewilderment at Bronwe.

"Er, Lady Bronwe...?" Firar ventured.

Bronwe looked as if she was having difficulty believing her ears. Wide eyed, she finally managed to ask, "Is it..._raining?_"

Valimyr looked up at the ceiling as if he could see through the roughly-planed wood and watch the falling drops. "Well, last time I checked, it never really rained cats and dogs." He chuckled. "But then again, this is a different world from than where I'm from, so I could be wrong."

The Peacekeeper's face lit up and she dashed to the window, throwing open the shutters, oblivious to the downpour she was letting in. Leaning over the sill, she reached her arm out and caught some raindrops in her hand and brought her hand to her face while Valimyr looked on in amusement.

Bronwe smiled mischievously and placed her hands on the sill. With a wink at Araphel, she somersaulted swiftly out the third floor window, landing lightly in the empty street below.

The other members of the room remained frozen in their last positions, staring at the place where Bronwe had been standing.

"Er..." was all Mychal could come up with.

"Shouldn't somebody chase her?" Kaylee voiced, sitting up from her languid pose and scrabbling over to the window.

"'T'will not be I," Firar stated. "Wouldn't want my armor to rust."

Valimyr's smirk turned into a grin. "I give the Lady credit though; I don't believe I would have thought of that. I'll have to keep that in mind for the future."

"That would be a 'no' then," Araphel sighed. He shed his outer robe, knowing it would only stick to him and hamper his movements in the downpour. "Very well, then." In a quick, lightning fast movement, he also dove from the window, his figure lost in the darkness beyond.

At this, Valimyr laughed. "Now I'm feeling left out! I am the only elf to have not jumped out the window and am very tempted to do so!"

"You are also the only elf for which we still have a modicum of respect, as you have not jumped out of the window," Firar put in, shedding his armor and laying out a blanket for the night. "Count yourself fortunate, friend Valimyr."

Valimyr sat up and good humouredly pointed a finger at the dwarf, "Do not put it past me, Master Dwarf, to follow them. I am known not only for my wise decisions, but for my rash ones as well. Follow the advice my mother always gave; 'Keep a watchful eye on _that_ one.'"

_That one?_ Mychal and Firar's puzzled gazes needed no interpreting; both were clearly thrown off and unsure as to what Valimyr meant, so they said nothing. The Warrior strode to the window and looked out at the sheeting rain. Kaylee sighed somewhere behind him, but no words were offered. The night stretched on.

Light droplets caressed his face as Araphel pressed doggedly onward through the storm, keeping the whiteness of Bronwe's dress in view at all times. The streets of Southwicke, for he recognized the town, were deserted. Many lanterns flickered in paned windows, cheery signs of life beyond the darkened streets. He did not understand, nor could he guess at the reason behind the elleth's action. Perhaps she merely enjoyed running in the rain...?

She had forgotten how pure clean water could make her feel. It had been far too long since her last rain shower, and it felt wonderful. Bronwe couldn't stop the laughter, so she didn't try. It bubbled up and filled the streets as she ran.

Araphel's finely attuned ears caught the strains of Bronwe's merriment. It sounded... pure. No, more than that. It sounded free. As if she had not had occasion for mirth in a long time and had at last found liberation. Soon he found himself smiling, then chuckling softly to himself as he pelted after her, Bronwe's damp figure becoming clearer as he gained on the Peacekeeper.

She knew someone was following her, and probably an elf by the lack of sound, but at the moment she was not concerned. The stonework felt as if it was closing in on her. All she wanted was to get out of the man-made environment and into nature proper. She didn't even notice that she was soaked through.

_She will likely be a sorry mess by the time I retrieve her_, Araphel thought, not too concerned with the idea. Hopefully, someone with a bit of foresight and intelligence would have blankets and warm tea ready by the time they returned. She must be within hearing now... "Bronwe! Wait, what are you doing?" he called to her, hoping that his voice would carry without rousing too many townsfolk.

The Peacekeeper grinned. She now knew who was following her and was sorely tempted to play a trick on him. Restraining herself admirably, she merely laughed over her shoulder and replied cheerfully, "Why, I am running in the rain. What are you doing, Araphel?"

"I am chasing you, Fair Lady," he shouted back. "And you are a worthy pursuit indeed!" He laughed at his own play on words.

_Again with the 'Lady' business_, Bronwe smiled, not slowing her stride. She flew from the city gate like a white dove finally released from its cage and raced along the road until she came to the top of a small hill, where she stopped, barely out of breath. From here, she could see quite a distance, even in the gloom of night and rain.

The Healer loped up beside her easily, invigorated by the run. He paused at her side, not saying anything. He allowed a playful, rather wet breeze to slap his waterlogged hair about his face, and he tried unsuccessfully to wring some of the moisture from it.

Bronwe let the sound of the wind and rain envelop them, not wishing to break the silence.

Finally, Araphel dared to broach the question, "What do you see in it, Lady, that I do not?" It was not lost upon him that she felt more than he at the patting touch of the rain.

"Life," she answered simply.

He remembered her world vividly, a scar that was forever seared in his memory. Rain held only death there, he knew. How long had it been since such a simple thing as water had meant life and vivacity to her? It saddened his heart to think of the answer. Why was she not broken over it? How had she survived? Araphel looked at her with in a new light, then at the sky just as quickly. The clouds were scudding swiftly overhead, and the downpour was beginning to abate into sprinkling.

At length, Bronwe turned to Araphel and sighed contentedly. "I suppose we should go back to the others soon,"she said reluctantly. "And I would imagine you are hungry, unless the potato peeler fed you."

"I agree. Master Scott provided nothing in the way of food, I fear, so we must rely on what Firar and Mychal have appropriated for us." He offered Bronwe his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"

With one last look over the countryside, she accepted his arm and allowed her to lead her back to their inn. She laughed, a little self-depreciating. "It is a good thing you followed me. I am afraid I was not paying much attention to directions a few moments ago."

Smiling slightly in the darkness, Araphel replied, "Allow me to guide you." They disappeared together up the street.

"And that's how you make squirrel pudding." Valimyr's face was beaming at the confused and somewhat disgusted listeners.

Firar's lip was curled in the very picture of horrified politeness. Mychal looked positively green around the gills, and Kaylee had long ago stuffed her head beneath a pillow to block out Kelley's graphic recipe. Even the puppy looked as if he were nauseated.

"Huh. Good thing he's the Leader, because I certainly couldn't stomach anything he made if he were the Cook!" Firar muttered sourly under his breath.

Kaylee cautiously poked her head back out from under its feathery confinement and chanced a look around. Seeing that Valimyr had at last concluded his ramblings, she stood and began to build a fire in the fireplace. She spread out blankets with clean clothes atop them for both Bronwe and Araphel and nudged Mychal into preparing some tea.

Valimyr clapped his hands. "So," he said cheerfully, "speaking of food, I have become slightly peckish. I haven't eaten since breakfast which was hours ago. May I ask where the food stores are?"

"Hoo, no you don't," Firar waved the Leader aside as he started towards the packs that had been stacked in the same corner as before. "Leave the meal to me. Don't want any unexpected surprises."

"Surprises?" Valimyr smiled. "Many surprises are in the future, friend." He picked up an apple, patted Firar on the shoulder, strode to the adjacent wall and slid down into a sitting position. "Many surprises, indeed."

"If I didn't know that he was just as clueless as the rest of us, I would almost believe that he knew what was ahead," Kaylee muttered under her breath to Mychal as she kindled the fire.

"Perhaps that is why he leads us," the Warrior murmured back, steeping some tea leaves in the slowly heating water.

"No... I thought we came down _this_ street." Bronwe peered down the dark lanes that all looked alike. "Are you certain we turned left here?"

He couldn't miss the amusement in her voice. "Not entirely certain, no," Araphel replied, "but I believe it looks more familiar than that lane." He pointed with his free arm down the lane in question.

She groaned softly, "This is embarrassing. This town is not even very large, and we have been wandering it for the good part of an hour."

"Then this must be the right street," Araphel concluded optimistically, "as it is, quite possibly, one of the _only_ ones we have yet to try."

"Fine, we try your way," Bronwe laughed softly, "but we speak of this to no one. Agreed?"

Araphel released her arm long enough to give her a playful bow, "Your wish is my command, my lady."

About halfway down the street, the two very damp elves could see light shining from a third story window and soft voices floated down on the night air.

Before Araphel could say anything, Bronwe turned to him and said, "And I do not want to hear an 'I told you so,' either." The acidic words were softened by the laughter in her eyes.

Opening the door to the inn and stepping aside, allowing her to precede him, Araphel replied, "I would not dream of it." Once inside, he again took her arm, ignoring the stares of the few patrons still huddled around the bar, guiding her up the stairs to the company's room.

As they approached the door to the room, the Peacekeeper turned to the Healer and smirked slightly, saying, "It is very well for the group that neither of us is the Guide." And with that, she knocked softly on the door.

Seconds later, the door flung open revealing the eager face of Valimyr, holding the puppy in the crook of his left arm. "Peggy, I told you it was over between us... Oh, hello. Have a good romp in the rain? Terribly sorry I missed it. Did you bring me something?"

Kaylee was muttering something under her breath while stirring a cup of tea so fast that the amber liquid sloshed over the edges of the vessel and onto her visibly trembling hand. The Leader was driving her to distraction, and Mychal and Firar were faring no better.

Still amused, Bronwe answered, "No, nothing but wet hair and soggy clothes. My apologies." Stepping into the room, Bronwe took in the scene with interest, feeling her mask of impassivity slip into place automatically. She glanced at Araphel and then back into the room, then asked tentatively, "Is everything all right?"

"Oh, fine," Mychal lied convincingly. He tapped the Keeper's shoulder and both surreptitiously turned away from the warmed clothes and blankets by the fireplace. "We were merely planning for your return. Please, ignore us."

"That would be best," Firar rumbled under his breath, "as we are still attempting to recover our good sense."

Araphel picked up the comment but declined to reply as he snatched up the clean clothes and blanket for him. He handed the latter to Mychal to hold while he rapidly changed behind it. "It was quite a pleasant excursion," he said, smiling to himself as he listened to the sounds of his companions

"Smashing." The Leader said from where he was seated and gently stroking the puppy. "You'll have to take me next time then. Don't want to miss anything."

"Hey, Mr. ADD Civil War Teddy guy," Kaylee said bluntly, "turn around so I can help Bronwe with her dress. I don't know if you elves can catch cold, but I _do_ know that wet clothes can really begin to smell after awhile." She made a brisk motion with one hand and snatched Bronwe's blue gown up with the other.

Valimyr smiled. "But of course, how rude of me. Come, Larson," he said to the puppy as he stood and turned towards the open window, "let's look at the falling rain and mock the people who get caught in it." The puppy wagged its tail, apparently very fond of the elf. The Leader walked to the window and gazed out at the black sky and listened to the white noise of the falling droplets.

Bronwe offered Kaylee a half-smile, accepted the dress and made sure the gentlemen had their backs turned. She quickly peeled off the wet dress, letting it fall to the floor with a splat and slipped on the dry one. Even if she thought it an extravagance, she couldn't deny how much fun dresses like this one were.

Kaylee reached to help the elleth fasten the back, but couldn't help noticing the tattoo on Bronwe's back. It was midway between her left shoulder and her spine. There were seven symbols, in a script that almost resembled Japanese characters. Two larger runes sat atop five smaller ones in a horizontal row. Kaylee blinked, mystified, before quickly buttoning the gown. "What does your tattoo mean?" she asked quietly, thinking to herself that the Peacekeeper didn't strike her as the bold, rebellious type.

Bronwe's breath caught in her throat. She was certain at least two of the room's occupants had heard the question, and as she didn't wish to go into the details, she lied outright, "I have no tattoo." Seeing a pitcher and ewer on the night table, she abruptly scooped up the sodden mess that was her dress, crossed to the bowl and started wringing water into it.

The Scout was taken aback by Bronwe's bald lie, and she balked suddenly at confronting her about it. Why did the elleth want it to remain a secret? She knew Mychal and Firar would have no idea as to its meaning; neither had heard of elves before meeting Araphel, and the other two would likely not condemn her for it. She looked at the floor, her thoughts taking her but a split second to cause her to decide that, secrecy be hanged, if they were going to succeed on this quest, they had to trust each other. "You do," she announced quietly. "I saw it, and I'm the Scout."

Bronwe considered pretending she hadn't heard Kaylee as she wrung her dress out with more force than necessary. She stole a quick glance around the room, discovering that, while they were trying to mask their focus, everyone was indeed waiting for an answer. The Peacekeeper carried her now only slightly damp dress closer to the fire and hung it to dry. Staring at the flames, she debated what she should tell them. She did not want their pity.

It was Araphel, the calm voice of reason that spoke first. "What tattoo, Lady?" He did not move from where he stood, but waited to see what Bronwe would do. He had never been good at judging the emotions of elleths, and he doubted that Bronwe would be any exception.

Closing her eyes, Bronwe stood straighter, proud, refusing to give the memories a foothold. Sighing softly, she opened her eyes and fixed Kaylee with an even gaze, "The direct translation reads 'Property of' and the smaller runes are individual names," she admitted quietly. "It is the mark of a slave."

Sensing from the movement in the room, the menfolk had turned and all had their attention on Bronwe. Firar and Mychal exchanged glances before backing warily away from the circle, deciding that perhaps the matter was best left to elves...and females. They muttered excuses about the horses and slipped out the door, the click of the knob sounding loud above the sound of the rain.

No one said anything for several moments, until the silence was broken by, "Slavery?" Everyone looked at who had spoken and were surprised to see the Leader's face drawn with sadness. Having been just fighting for others freedom, such words hit home to the former captain. He looked like he wanted to say more, but couldn't bring himself to approach such painful questions.

The frozen moment was interrupted by Kaylee's sudden dash for the door, flinging her cloak around her shoulders as she went. She wouldn't look any of the immortals in the eye, and the wooden door thudded shut heavily behind her.

Araphel watched the Scout flee, but made no move to follow. He was too busy wondering at Bronwe. Clearly she desired no pity, and therefore he would give her none, but he was burning to know more. Who had enslaved her? And why? He turned away, shaking his head to himself. He was now a part of something bigger than he could ever have imagined...and it frightened him slightly to realize that other worlds were not as his was. He let the moment pass in silence, head too full of thoughts to say anything.

Valimyr looked at the other members from his place near the window. No one made a move to follow the Scout. _Someone should follow..._ His jaw was set now. He would follow; he was the Leader after all. He placed the puppy on the floor, and exited the room before anyone to utter a word after him. He could still hear Kaylee's heavy footsteps on the stairs below. Forgetting the practiced clumsiness of his human persona, Valimyr leaped gingerly to the first landing to narrow the space between him and his fleeing target.

He then skipped every second step and rounded the corner to see the flapping cloak. Quietly he caught up with her and grabbed her by her shoulders.

Fighting down her first instinct, which was to simply whirl and slap, Kaylee spun around roughly, dislodging Valimyr's hands. "What do you want?" she demanded, her belligerent anger hiding the tears in her eyes.

"I want to make sure you're well." Valimyr's eyes usually filled with a strange wildness, now were filled with concern. "Well in body as well as spirit. It is my duty."

"I—" Kaylee abruptly swallowed what she was going to say and swiftly continued her descent of the stairs, unable to communicate. She was filled with many roiling emotions, so much so that she didn't know what to say or how to react. She just wanted to be out of the inn, just _away_.

Valimyr knew he couldn't get Kaylee go off by herself and though he knew that she didn't want to talk to him, at least not yet, he would follow her so that he would be there when she did.

He left the inn after Kaylee, and in seconds his hair was drenched and his clothes began to get heavy. Kaylee was running down the muddy streets with no apparent goal. The Leader quickened his pace to keep up with the frustrated young girl.

Bronwe stood in front of the fire staring at the door through which Mychal, Firar, Kaylee and Valimyr had just disappeared. _They cannot even stay in the same room with me,_ she thought, saddened. A glance behind her told the Peacekeeper that Araphel had his back to her. _And he will not look at me._ Feelings of loneliness and isolation crept back over her. _Fine_, she concluded bitterly, _if they do not want me, then I do not need them._ Turning back to the fire, she sat in a pool of blue silk on one of the blankets, and began working her fingers through her wet, tangled hair.

The departure of Valimyr broke through Araphel's troubled thoughts. He turned back towards the now vacant room, watching Larson the puppy amble up to rub against Bronwe in the flickering firelight. _It is not right for me to not say anything_, he thought, watching her slim fingers work through her damp locks, her posture tense and unyielding. _But would she even answer me if I did say something?_ The Healer rose quietly from his chair, his steps making no noise on the wooden floor as he moved behind Bronwe. He paused for a moment, debating, then sat to her left. _She must feel as if everyone has deserted her,_ he thought, slightly sorrowed at what he himself had done. "Bronwe? We I think no less of you than any of the others. I do not know if you wish to talk...but I am here to listen."

After a silence, in which he had given up expecting an answer, she sighed and asked tonelessly, "And what would you have me say?"

Araphel didn't answer for a moment, then reached wordlessly for his pack, just in reach of his fingertips. _She is going to pull half of her hair out if she continues that_, he noted detachedly, pulling an ivory comb, one of his few remaining effects, from the bag. "May I?" he asked quietly, holding up the comb so that it glowed golden in the light of the fire.

Bronwe looked up, surprised. No one had offered to comb her hair before. She looked down at the hair coiled in her hands, still very tangled. Suddenly feeling uncertain, she nodded once and waited.

Shifting slightly, Araphel gently began to work the knots from her damp hair. The fire's crackling was the only sound, until he chanced to ask, "How long ago did it happen?"

Bronwe could feel herself relaxing with every downstroke of the comb. Feeling warm and safe, as only the distance of time could permit, she allowed her mind to drift back over the millennia to Tresmar's civil war and beyond. "It was almost eight thousand years ago," she began, her voice tinged with memory, "and we did nothing to stop it."

"The humans," Araphel whispered, more to himself than to Bronwe, who he knew couldn't help but overhear anyway. "Why? Why would they do such a thing?" He kept up the simple, soothing rhythm of his combing, pausing every now and again to tackle a particularly stubborn knot.

She shrugged gracefully. "I have often asked myself that. I can remember when they were a child-race, needing help with farming, building and producing. We were more than happy to assist them and they accepted our advice gratefully. Then, once they were established, we had treaties with them, and trade between us flourished." She paused, remembering.

"How long did it last?"

"Maybe nine hundred years?" she answered. "But the mortals had a much higher birth rate, even if you took into account their death rate, and they soon outnumbered us. I do not know why, but some of them felt threatened by our presence, by our very existence. They started passing laws to limit our power. First, they outlawed the Elf King's Court, and we were forced to find civilian positions; next, they made it illegal to speak our native language in public, 'so we could not plot against them.'

"Eventually, it was against the law for an elf to carry a weapon of any kind, and we were forbidden to work with weapons, to hold rank in the army, to be party to any strategy meetings or to hold position in government. Civil jobs were then taken away - we were told the mortals had larger families and needed the income more..."

The Healer waited while the elleth gave free reign to her memories. He dared to interrupt with another question. "When did it turn to outright slavery?"

Bronwe jumped very slightly at his question. She had almost forgotten he was there. "Most of us were unable to find employment," she continued quietly, "so we willingly entered bond-agreements: work for a family for a certain time frame, receiving room and board, after which we would be paid and released from the contract. Before the contracts were up, however, laws were passed, making the bonds irrevokable and permanent."

It was society gone wrong, Araphel could see that much. He didn't know much about the human race, but even he could agree that such a scenario, after what he had seen of Kaylee's world, was very probable. It shook him up, but he didn't let it show, forcing his hands not to waver. "And that is when they branded you. When did you free yourself? When did elves seek liberation?"

Nodding once in answer to his statement, the Peacekeeper grimaced slightly. "There was always a resistance movement somewhere. One would rise up and be subdued, only for another to take its place. We were not able to unite against the owners, they kept us too tightly restrained for open communication and separated physically. It was not until…" Bronwe's voice wavered for the first time.

The Healer set the comb aside and lightly rested one hand on her back. He could almost touch the feelings within the elleth, but it was a pain that he couldn't heal. A hurt that he couldn't touch. At least not physically. He said nothing, merely waited for her to regain her composure.

The silence stretched out, the only sounds were the rain on the roof and the crackling of the fire. When the Peacekeeper resumed her story, her voice was even again, and only the clenched fists in her lap spoke of her turmoil. "It was not until three high ranking members of the king's court were killed in an owner's fit of rage that we stood as a people and said 'enough.' The war that followed was short, but violent and bloody. We lost many good people on both sides before the laws were changed... albeit temporarily." She turned to look at him, and for a moment, the veil that hid her emotions was dropped. He could see both pride and pain warring for dominance. "My father and his two aides did not die in vain."

Araphel slowly released a pent up breath as Bronwe stopped again. He saw the depth of emotion in her eyes, and thought, _Those who die for freedom and justice _never_ die in vain._

Bronwe acknowledge the thought with a small, grateful smile. _Thank you_.

Mychal, at Firar's insistence, had unloaded the remaining packs from the reappeared horses and pony and both were hauling the lot up the back staircase, as it was closer to the inn's stables. Without precedent, nor announcement, the Warrior flung the door open with a well placed knee and dropped the bags atop the heap in the corner. Only then did his eyes light upon the seated figures of Bronwe and Araphel. His first notion was about the slightly smiling, Peacekeeper, her hair flowing loose around her. _If she was beautiful sleeping, she is stunning now,_ he thought unabashedly. His second thought was the lack of distance between the two elves, and the fact that they had been staring deeply into one another's eyes. _Oh boy, _he thought, blocking the doorway to give them a chance to scramble apart before Firar saw them and had a field day, _let's hope things don't get too complicated._ He offered them a small smile before sinking into a corner, the puppy bounding into his lap.

After nodding to the Warrior, Bronwe turned to stare into the flames, gathering her emotions and locking them up again. She had told him the hard part and he hadn't balked or walked out. It was a start, and friendships had been built on less than that.

Sensing the conversation closed, the Healer scooped up his comb and swiftly stood, replacing the object in his pack, just as Firar entered the room. The Dwarf saw nothing, and the others were going to say just that: nothing.

"I don't suppose you and Kaylee had had thoughts in the way of supper?" he demanded, throwing the remaining packs none too gently on the floor.

"As a matter of fact, we hadn't gotten past the bed," Mychal said without thinking, then bit his tongue and slammed his fist against the wall as a humongous grin spread across the Keeper's face.

Her guard already let down, Bronwe's head spun around to look at Mychal, her eyes wide. It was like that between them, was it? Well, that could complicate matters more than a little...

Araphel quietly decided between him and himself that he quite honestly didn't want to know, and set about searching through baggage in search of supper materials. Firar, on the other hand, wanted to know _everything_.

"Do you mean to tell me that you and Kaylee "

_**"No." **_Mychal articulated the word with as much force as it could hold without straining his vocal chords and shouting. "I only meant to say that I, as a gentleman, offered Kaylee the use of the bed _by herself,_ and she being the snip that she is came back with a retort that set us arguing, preventing us from preparing any kind of meal. _**Do I make myself clear?**_"He practically thundered.

Hiding a smile, Bronwe turned back to the fire again. _Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much._ She slid over slightly to allow the men access to the fire, in case they needed it for food preparation. It had been too long since she'd sat in front of a blaze like this, and she had no intention of moving any time soon.

Firar knew when not to tease his friend, and judging by the unhealthy hue of Mychal's face, now was definitely not the time. He'd save it for some dire situation or other. His eyes fell upon the skillet, bag of meal, and other provisions that Araphel had set aside neatly. "Araphel, do you know what you're doing?" he asked, one bushy eyebrow raised skeptically.

The Healer straightened and eyed the Dwarf from on high with a look of stiff superiority. "I am not going to poison anyone, if that is what you are implying. I am making supper." Without further ado, he swept past Firar and set to work at the fire's edge, measuring, slicing, stirring, baking.

Mychal paused to smell the aroma that was rapidly beginning to permeate the entire room. "Are those apple-cakes I smell?" he asked to the room in general.

"Something like them, I imagine," came Araphel the Cook's response. "It is a simple fare, but better than what we have been eating of late."

The food smelled wonderful, certainly better than anything Bronwe'd had in a very long time. She knew she would have to be careful though; to quit taking pellets cold-turkey was not wise. She just hoped no one noticed that she wasn't 'eating' much.

Packs were quickly rummaged through for plates and utensils as Araphel rapidly began serving all around him, the hungry expressions enough to make him laugh. It was then that he noticed that two of their number were still absent, and showed no time of returning soon. Where had Valimyr and Kaylee gone?

Bronwe accepted her plate with a quiet 'thank you' and walked over to eat it by the window, hoping she could drop some out without being seen. The aroma hadn't been deceiving, the cakes were delicious. Stamping down on the guilt, and ensuring that she wasn't watched, she surreptitiously crumbled some over the sill.

The males' attention was firmly focused on their own plates, until Firar looked up as a sudden afterthought occurred to him. "Wait...where are the Leader and Kaylee?" He brushed sticky crumbs from his black beard as he spoke.

Bronwe looked up, "They left ... after I.." she bit her lip, not sure what to tell them. She herself was not entirely certain where they were, or even why they'd left. The Peacekeeper glanced at Araphel for help.

"The Scout left the room soon after you, clearly upset over something. Valimyr followed, and neither have been seen since." He did not elaborate over the reason for the departure, and neither of the mortals needed it.

"Let's clear one thing up right here," Mychal said at last. "Lady Bronwe, it is no less than a tragedy to me to hear that you were subjected to slavery. However, if you think that either Firar or myself think any less of you because of it, you are sorely mistaken." His eyes clouded for a moment, but he rushed on before he let his own past take him. "I have been chosen as the Warrior, likely because of my extensive knowledge of weapons and the way of war. Only few know what price that knowledge carries. Firar is one. We did not mean to slight you in any way, but left out of respect for your feelings. My own " and here his voice did choke, " never did recover."

Bronwe studied him seriously for a moment before nodding once. "Thank you," she paused a moment before continuing carefully, "And you are not the only ones who possess such knowledge or experiences, I am afraid." She did not press him. She, of all people, knew how the past took on a life of its own. If he needed to, he would talk. She only hoped it wouldn't be to her, when the time came.

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Key's A/N: For those of you who still have this on your favorites list or alerts.


	31. Feeling Impish

**Chapter Thirty-One**

The Scout rushed blindly down the streets, heedless of the rain that was beginning to slacken. She would likely regret running around in weather like this tomorrow, if she caught a cold. Then again, Araphel would have something to say about that. Regardless, and such thoughts as far from her as her sense, Kaylee let out a howl that was anguished and despairing. She didn't have words, only feelings, and those she vented with reckless abandon.

She dropped to her knees in the thick mud, pounding tightly-clenched fists against the moist ground, screaming, growling, all wordless actions that gave her welcome release. And then phrases tumbled from her lips and Kaylee did nothing to stop them.

"I hate this, I hate this world, I hate _them/_ I didn't ask for this! I hate this quest, and most of all, _I hate you, Shkena!"_

He heard her outburst before she came back into view. Valimyr rounded the corner, saw the crumpled figure of the Scout and his heart went out to her. For a moment, he just stood there and let the light rain fall on and around them. With the rain being the only sound after Kaylee's screams, the soft rhythm was deafening. Then without saying a word, he quietly walked up behind her, kneeled down in the mud beside her and put his arms around her. Her body was shaking in giant sobs now and the elf didn't do anything to stop them. He just gently squeezed Kaylee's trembling body and just held her.

"That's it, Lady Kaylee." he whispered. "Don't hold back." And she didn't. Valimyr didn't exactly know how long they stayed like that, but when he finally looked up, it had completely stopped raining and he was soaked through. He smirked, _And I didn't even jump out of the window._

Kaylee's sobs eventually subsided into hiccups and general sniffling. All the feelings she had held back for so long, ever since Firar had taken her flute from her not even a week before, had been spent, leaving her spent, drained, and utterly embarrassed. She realized it was the Leader who had his arms around her, and her shame intensified.

Valimyr felt Kaylee's body tense and he loosened his hug to give her a little more room. Though she had stopped crying, her body was still trembling slightly. _Most likely from the chill in the air,_ he concluded. He took off his woolen navy coat and placed it on top of her cloak, then placed his arms around her again. He wasn't sure of how much good it would do, but at least the gesture might be appreciated. "How are you now?" he asked quietly. "I know I'm not a Healer, but there are a few things that I can do." He looked at the ground as he paused. "I don't know what type of world you come from, but I truly believe it is a nice one. How else would you have turned out so kind?"

The Scout may have had an answer to his question, but it was never known as a soft white glow seemed to surround them and a soft, sonorous voice that Kaylee knew very well said, "You see, Kaylee, that you are no longer alone in your problems. You are not without a family, because these ones, your Leader included, are meant to _be_ your family." She stood there, seemingly impervious to the mud and recent precipitation.

Valimyr looked up and saw a beautiful blonde woman who lit up the dark alley. He sat up and looked intently at her for a few moments before "Lady Shkena, I presume?"

"You presume correctly, Leader," she said, inclining her head in a formal manner. "I regret that I did not have the opportunity to speak with you earlier. You know what you are charged with?"

"Charged with?" For a moment, Valimyr's mind went back to the trial he had played defense lawyer for that day, but no, she couldn't be accusing him of a crime. "Not in its entirety, no, my good Lady, but I doubt that you would explain it to me since no one has."

Kaylee had gathered the remaining shreds of her dignity together, but she was far too exhausted to yell or scream or even make a move at Shkena, though some distant part of her had badly wanted to wring the breath from the powerful woman's body. She raised her tear-streaked face and demanded brokenly, "Why? I can't accept them. They can't accept me. Just send me home! Put me back where I belong, I've had enough. Please…" She would have begun crying, but she didn't have any tears left.

The Leader looked at Kaylee. He wanted to do something, even just place a hand on her shoulder, but now was not the right time for it.

Shkena answered Valimyr first. "I will explain what you think you must know. No more, no less."

He looked back at the glowing figure. "That is all I ask, for if I am to lead this group of individuals that I have just met, I need to at least know what I am leading them into."

She held up one hand in a restraining gesture. "I cannot tell you what you will face, only the nature of the quest. You and your group are to journey to another world where many dangers await, to retrieve a valuable object that could spell the end of the world for the planets' inhabitants. This task will not begin until all have been gathered. You are appointed as Leader." Her gaze was serious. "You are responsible for all. Take charge, but do not forget the talents of those you are with. Use strengths; banish weaknesses. Your greatest power lies not in you, but in those with you."

"I understand. Thank you." The elf bowed slightly in respect.

Now Kaylee's turn came. Shkena deigned to crouch slowly before the hunched girl. "Kaylee, listen to what I say. I chose you personally to be the Scout. I did not do so quickly or carelessly. This is a test I know you possess the power to pass, and pass well. The success of your newfound friends is dependent upon everyone in the group. Do you understand what I mean? They need you, as you will see that you need them just as much." There was such conviction in Shkena's blue eyes that Kaylee began to believe her. It was a momentary appeasement, but still one all the same.

Straightening, the demi-god turned, retreated a step, and vanished without a parting word.

It took several seconds for Valimyr's eyes to re-adjust to the lack of light. He blinked a few times and said finally, "Well that was... interesting. I will give her one thing though, she is more polite than that Austus." He looked at the still crouching figure of Kaylee. "Are you all right?"

Rubbing the back of her hand across her face, Kaylee took a deep breath, wishing she could disappear into the ground now that her pent-up emotions had been spent. "I'm fine," she said softly, standing up shakily. "Let's go back to the inn."

"Very well." The Leader straightened himself, turned and offered his arm to Kaylee with a sparkle in his eye. "It's now our turn to walk into the room soaked," the elf smiled.

She eyed Valimyr's arm a bit hesitantly, unsure of his intent. Then, throwing her world's inhibitions aside, Kaylee accepted the help, and they set off slowly. She felt embarrassed, even childish, at her actions. But the reason itself was embarrassment. Shame for her race, humans, for what they had done to Bronwe, to each other in the parallel universe of her own existence. Kaylee remembered the thoughts of a girl that seemed so young, so naïve now, thinking of how mundane and self-serving men were. Only now the thoughts were proven true in ways she couldn't have previously imagined.

"I'm...sorry," the Scout at last said into the momentary silence. And she was. She was sorry that elves had to get involved in the affairs of mortal men, sorry that such beings were affected by her people's stupidity.

Valimyr shook his head. "Nothing to be sorry for. I don't know what all you've been through, and if that release was needed, it could not have been stopped." The elf sighed. "Well, don't we have our work cut out for us...almost quite literally. This will certainly be on my things to remember in years to come list."

Kaylee didn't know what to say to the Leader's forgiveness. He was still a mystery to her, and likely to everybody else in their group. Didn't he blame humans with the same bitterness that Bronwe did? She had seen the way the Peacekeeper regarded her, and the world around her; like a dream that would quickly vanish, given enough time. Kaylee always felt so small whenever the elleth looked at her.

In the end, she said nothing as the tall shape of the inn came into sight around the corner. Admitting themselves into the nearly-empty tavern, they ascended the stairs. The door to the room creaked open slightly as they entered. The smell of cooked apples lingered in the quiet air, and the fire had died on the hearth, reducing their companions to barely-silhouetted lumps strewn about the room.

Valimyr looked around the room and spotted a chair near the fireplace on which two sets of dry clothing had been placed. He removed his coat from Kaylee's shoulders and silently indicated the chair to Kaylee.

Bronwe looked up from her seat by the window. "Have a good romp in the rain? Did you bring me something?" she asked, quietly echoing his greeting from earlier.

Valimyr smirked in the darkness. "Nothing but wet hair and soggy clothes, and a bit of new information of our quest. My apologies." he said, remembering her answer.

"Of course," Bronwe acknowledged, nodding towards the hearth, "We saved you two some supper, and Araphel is willing to lend you something dry to wear. Kaylee is welcome to borrow my navy dress, if she wishes."

"Thank you, Lady Bronwe." and he proceeded towards the clothing and food.

The Scout sat slowly on the still-warm hearth, too numb with sudden exhaustion to notice the fact that Bronwe didn't speak directly to her. The offer of food and dry clothes wasn't even enough to entice her back to full reality, and she began to drift off even as she sat there in the dying warmth of the fire.

The Leader looked at the fading Scout and wanted to do something, but knew he was unable to do if he was to keep any respect. "Lady Bronwe," he whispered to the silent figure at the window. "I fear that young Kaylee is falling asleep, but it wouldn't be good for her to do so in wet clothing. I believe she will need your assistance."

The Peacekeeper rose from her seat by the window and approached the nearly sleeping girl. "Come on, Kaylee, you need to put on dry clothes. Otherwise, you will catch your death of cold, and then Araphel will kill you." Bronwe gently tugged the Scout to her feet and, ensuring that Valimyr wasn't looking, started to peel off the wet clothes, wrapping her in a warm blanket.

Kaylee moved somewhat mechanically, fingers fumbling with fastenings as the elleth helped her, though she wasn't even entirely aware of it. Standing and slipping into the warm, dry garments that Bronwe had laid out, she blinked blearily before rewrapping herself in the blanket and sitting down again by the fire, unwilling to stray from its heat.

Valimyr made it sure it was safe before turning around. He quickly picked up the dry clothes and headed back for the door. "I shall return shortly," he said, and he made a silent exit.

Once the Kaylee was dressed and dried, Bronwe passed her an applecake. "Eat up, child. We have a long day ahead of us." Not waiting for a response, Bronwe went to turn down the bed for her. The poor dear was going to fall into the coals if she didn't lie down soon.

Something subconscious prodded the Scout up and over to the bed, the fact that she didn't even protest about Bronwe taking the bed marking just how tired she was. She curled up with a little sigh, and was asleep before the Peacekeeper had returned to her window seat.

When Valimyr came back to the room having switched his wet clothes for dry ones, not much had changed other than one more body had been added to the sleeping count. He placed his wet uniform on the chair to dry and picked up one of the blankets that had been laid out for him. He quietly stepped to the window and placed the woolen cover over Bronwe's shoulders. As he spoke, he smiled slightly. "Don't stay up too late." he whispered. She looked up, clasped the blanket in one hand and gave him a small smile of gratitude. He then walked to the wall near the head of the bed, sat leaning up against it, and fell asleep.

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While everyone else was still asleep, Bronwe changed back into her now dry white dress as it allowed for more freedom of movement and was more practical for riding. Repacking her gown, she swallowed two more pellets, enough to last her the day, and placed her cloak on top of the bundle, to be grabbed upon departure.

The Peacekeeper then sat by the window until sunrise, sipping a cup of cold, weak tea, as she enjoyed the cool air and watched the stars. She had a nagging ache in the back of her head, and her stomach felt a little off. She could only assume the 'new' food was throwing her off balance.

As silence of the night slowly gave way, the residents of Southwicke woke and began going about their daily business. The smells of cook-fires and baking bread filled the room and she wondered how long it would take before everyone else woke up.

Firar stirred from his curled position on the floor, noting with his ever clearing mind that the puppy had joined him sometime during his slumber. He shifted the warm bundle of fur away from his side before rising stiffly and cracking his neck. He noticed the still form of Bronwe sitting at the window but paid her no more thought than he did attention. There was no sign from any of the others that they would be awaking soon, so he decided he would take charge of breakfast, whether they liked it or not. Something told him it would probably be 'not.'

Araphel was brought around by a questionable aroma in the air. He sat slowly, but did not speak at first. He was thoroughly enthralled by the scene that met his eyes: Firar frantically trying to beat flames out of his beard while a semi-identifiable substance simmered in a blackened pan.

The stench was awful, drowning out the bakery down the street and turning her stomach. She had the feeling that the dwarf would not welcome assistance, so Bronwe elected not to notice his less than stunning efforts in the world of breakfast. At least here at the window there was _some_ fresh air.

"Gracious me, I recognise that awful smell," came a distinctly fuzzy voice from the floor, "Who let Firar near the cooking supplies?" Mychal sat up from where he'd been reclined against the wall.

"Twas not I, he had begun his disastery even before I awoke," Araphel said, raising his hand in a gesture to ward of guilt.

"You do not appreciate culinary art when you see it," the dwarf retorted. He made a half-hearted effort to stir the concoction before giving up entirely and tossing the contents of the pot onto the flames nearly dousing the fire completely.

"I don't need to see it, I can smell it, and that is torture enough," Valimyr piped up, sitting up and running his fingers through his hair.

Araphel decided that an assertion of authority was in order. "Stand aside. I think I speak for all parties concerned when I say your cooking could flay the hide off a camel." The elf's statement was met by a round of hearty applause, and the Healer began to gather the things he would need to make a second, edible batch of porridge.

Mychal breathed deeply of the morning air as he bridled and saddled his horse in the stable. He had discussed travelling plans with Firar and hadn't like what he'd heard. _Austus must be crazy_, he thought to himself sourly. _Even the most foolish fool knows you do not go into the Mystic Wood, and _especially_ not with women_. But still, if the demi-god had said it, then he had to do it. He cinched the girth strap on his horse before turning to address the rest of the group. "We have been told to go to the Mystic Wood. We will travel west from here until we reach the Norin Ocean. From there, it is a five day crossing. Once across, we will venture to the Wood as Austus has ordered. If any one has any questions, complaints or interesting details, please share them now."

"I have a question," Bronwe murmured.

"Go ahead," the Warrior said simply.

"What do I have to do to get a good pair of boot knives?" the Peacekeeper inquired.

"Boot knives, you say? I bet Mychal knows where we can get some." The dwarf elbowed his friend good naturedly.

"Speaking of new weapons, I would like a better sword than this...poor excuse for one." Valimyr said, indicating the rapier-like sword he had brought from his home world. "This would not stand up to a double edged sword for long, if at all." He detached the scabbard from his belt and held it up to examine it. "It does have gold in the handle as well as gold leaf on the hilt, so I imagine it would gather a fair price or trade. What say you, Keeper?"

Firar took the sword and examined it eagerly, running his thick fingers over the hilt and blade as if testing its worth. "Yes," he muttered thoughtfully, "This will fetch a fair price. But you," and he eyed Bronwe narrowly, "what have you to pay for these boot knives you require?"

Raising an eyebrow, Bronwe replied cynically, "If your memory is failing, perhaps a perusal of your pockets will remind you of a certain bracelet now in your possession. I trust it is enough?" It was phrased as a question, but she didn't expect to be contradicted.

Firar's sly expression melted off his face and he frowned up at the Peacekeeper. He had been hoping she wouldn't remember that. Saying nothing, he turned his back and led his pony from the stable.

"Now that Firar has mentioned it, I do recall a nice little knife stand down the street," it was Mychal's turn to direct a scathing glare in the dwarf's direction. He thought it wise to take advantage of the Keeper's momentary cowed silence. It didn't happen too often.

Bronwe closed her eyes and counted slowly, breathing out through her nose. Her headache hadn't abated, was actually getting stronger, the five bites of porridge had done nothing to settle her stomach, and now the someone from her own group was trying to swindle her?

"Ignore him," Kaylee muttered to Bronwe. "He's always after something more. Says its just part of his job and not to take him seriously." Her expression was unusually dark and closed that morning, warning everybody that she'd rather speak than be spoken to. "He made an enemy of me the day he met me."

"Did he now? I can't see why." Valimyr said as he winked at Kaylee. Then his attention turned to the Keeper as the Leader snatched his sword back. The elf eyed the dwarf. "I'll be holding onto this, thank you."

If her head wasn't throbbing so much, she might have laughed. As it was, the Peacekeeper just watched Valimyr bolt out of the stable and smirked slightly. Readjusting the bag on her saddle, Bronwe sighed, nodded to Kaylee and led her horse out into the semi-brightness of the overcast day.

Firar held back his biting retort, his beard bristling indignantly at the obvious slur to his career choice, such as it was. _Outworlders,_ he thought darkly. /_hey know nothing of our ways and presume to trample down traditions laid down by the law of Keepers._ He pulled away from them into the crowd, seeking out the weapons' vendors.

_Blast! I hate crowds._ Valimyr had lost sight of the Keeper. He scanned the crowd, but couldn't find him. He sighed inwardly. _I have been around humans for too long. I think I'm losing who I am._

Araphel was attempting to keep tabs on all the members of their group as they led their horses through the bustling, ever-thickening crowds. He saw Firar pause at a cart laid out with a dazzling array of blades and other metalcraft. The Healer called out to the others, gesturing with one hand that they all pull to the side of the street while the Keeper made some transactions.

Bronwe complied, and as she led the still-nameless horse closer to Araphel, she wondered silently if all humans were this loud. The sooner they could be away from this town the better. The constant press of humanity was grating on her nerves making her hands tremble ever so slightly. She tugged the hood of her cloak down over her head a little more, shading her eyes and waited for the dwarf to complete his trades.

Firar handed the boot knives and their respective sheaths to Bronwe and a new sword to Valimyr without so much as a word to either, concealing a good-sized pouch of gold on his person as he did. He had traded Bronwe's platinum bracelet for the weapons, but felt he had come out on the worse end of the bargain, and that always put him in a bad mood. He mounted his pony and rode for the western gate of the city without a backwards glance.

The Scout followed the Dwarf doggedly, her quick eyes scanning the crowds for lack of anything better to do. Sparky danced and jigged a little beneath her at the press of the people all around, but as the little group cleared the walls, he calmed, his ears listening to the other steeds pulling up around him.

Being one horse short, Valimyr rode behind Kaylee on Sparky, and though he had enjoyed messing with the Scout's head last night, he decided to tone it down today...for now.

Bronwe nudged her horse after Kaylee's, the animal being as eager to escape the crowd as she was. She was certain she'd feel better after a few minutes of fresh, quiet air.

At last, the town of Southwicke safely behind him, the six riders assumed a loose formation and pressed down the path. Scattered conversations were the only things of mention that happened as miles were passed and the sun climbed overhead.

"...and we won that battle when I shouted 'The muffins are in the horse's pantry.'" Valimyr was telling Kaylee of some of his most memorable battles "and then we over-whelmed them while they were trying to decipher the code. There was no code; just me. Oh, by the way, there's a bug in your hair."

Kaylee sighed as she half-heartedly swatted at the insect. She really didn't mind the Leader recounting his battles to her; she could tune him out easily enough, but she would _really_ appreciate it when somebody got him his own horse. Just because Bronwe was squeamish around others, and Valimyr riding with the guys would look bad didn't _mean_ she had to suffer through listening to his ramblings.

The Peacekeeper shivered slightly, then frowned. Why was she feeling chilled? The sun was almost directly overhead, and, while the day was far from hot, it should not have been cool enough for her to notice. Was it possible that elves on this world were susceptible to cold viruses? That was a novel idea, if slightly irritating in its timing. Maybe a cup of tea would make her feel better.

Firar was riding ahead of Mychal, setting a strenuous pace for his poor pony. The Warrior personally was getting rather hungry, as noon had passed and the sun was descending from the apex of its journey. At last, he couldn't stand it anymore, and he knew he wasn't the only one who was hungry, as he noted the way Araphel was drooping in his saddle. Bronwe wasn't looking very well either, and Mychal called to Firar, "Halt here, and we'll eat a light meal before continuing on until nightfall."

Valimyr's stomach had been rumbling for a while, and now that Mychal had ordered the halt, he inwardly kicked himself. Why had he waited? He was the Leader after all. He slowed the horse, dismounted, and offered his hand to Kaylee to help her down. "Do you need any help with the meal?" he asked in all seriousness.

There were a couple sideways glances at Firar, who was stoically faced away from everyone, honing the points of his mace with a file. "If you think you can manage it, then please," Araphel replied, indicating the apples and cold cakes he was fishing out of his pack. He, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be setting out the meal, but his keen eyes were constantly on Bronwe. He wasn't blind to her, and he'd be caught stealing Firar's daggers before he'd lose his healing senses.

Sliding off her horse, the Peacekeeper considered putting on her sweater, but thought that might draw unwanted attention. Instead, she spoke softly to the horse, trying to decide what to call him. Pulling her hood further over her eyes, she stayed where she was instead of joining the group around the food.

Kaylee was clumsily attempting to picket the horses, feeling hampered by the voluminous folds of the navy dress she had unknowingly borrowed from Bronwe the night before. Somehow the details of how she'd gotten it on were a little hazy, a fact that she dutifully chose to ignore as Mychal moved to assist her.

Lunch was a leisurely affair, not too fast or slow except perhaps for Firar, who was ready and raring to get on the road again.

Valimyr saw to the packing up of the leftover food and fastened it to the animals' packs. "How far is our destination from this location of which we are currently at this moment in time?"

Mychal looked toward Firar, who was in no way offering any sort of opinion on the matter, before gazing around at their surroundings with a wary eye. "If I had to guess, which I am very likely doing, I would say three days, perhaps half a day more if the weather detains us."

The Dwarf impatiently spurred his pony forward without so much as a word, and his rigid posture suggested that he was fed up with talking and wanted to go. Kaylee, sans Valimyr, wasn't far behind him, gathering up her picket line and shoving it messily into a saddlebag.

Slightly relieved that she had made it through lunch without raising suspicions, Bronwe tucked the rest of her uneaten lunch in her bag and mounted her horse. He stomped a little, eager to be moving again, but she kept him reigned in, waiting for the others.

Valimyr watched Kaylee ride off without him. He blinked calmly and started to follow her at a fast walking pace and whistling pleasantly.

Araphel's agile mind quickly found the answer to the two problems facing him: one, for Valimyr's ride, two, Bronwe's health. He was not visually impaired in any sense of the term, and he had seen the elleth barely touch her food and then slip it away in her bag. He was almost ready to go ahead with a diagnosis, but he wanted to be absolutely sure first, and that would involve a little hands-on activity.

Seizing the opportunity, he called ahead to the Leader, "Valimyr, please, take my horse. If there are no objections, I will ride with Lady Bronwe."

Bronwe had been letting her mind drift, but at Araphel's comment, her attention was pulled back to the present with a snap. She mentally cursed the headache when she couldn't come up with a valid reason why the Healer should not ride with her. Giving him a look that bespoke of her annoyance, she replied civilly, "No, of course I do not mind."

Araphel inclined his head, albeit a bit triumphantly, and glanced in Valimyr's direction, seeing that the other elf had halted at his earlier call. He walked his dappled steed over and handed the reins to the Leader before hopping lightly astride Browne's stallion and mentally congratulating himself on his quick thinking.

The Leader smiled as he patted the horse on the nose before mounting. "Both I and my feet thank you, Araphel. This will be much easier and faster to get to our goal." He spoke softly to the horse and the animal started moving at a trot. He had gone a small way he called over his shoulder. "Does your horse have a name, Healer?"

Araphel opened his mouth to reply, then looked at the puppy whose head was sticking out of Mychal's saddlebag, tongue lolling happily. "Yes, Storm." It was the first thing he thought of when he looked at the horse's mottled gray flanks. Larson the dog was enough reminder that perhaps he didn't want to leave the naming of his steed to the Leader, however good his intentions.

Valimyr smiled "Well Storm," he said, "let us go show off to the Scout, eh? I would have been quiet this portion of the journey." And the horse sped up, narrowing the gap between him and Kaylee.

Mychal shot an amused, sideways glance at the Healer and the Peacekeeper before kicking his mount's flanks and following. He wasn't altogether sure that he wouldn't have done the same to Valimyr, had the elf been talking his ear off all morning. Happily setting into the middle position of the ragtag band, he was contented to watch the green land roll by.

Sighing audibly, the Peacekeeper nudged her horse into motion. Araphel obviously had something on his mind, but she wasn't going to ask. If he wanted to talk, he could start. Sitting rigidly in the saddle, she kept as far away from him as physically possible.

Araphel wondered if he should simply _ask_ Bronwe what was wrong, but he wasn't sure he could trust her for a completely truthful answer. Still...he didn't think it would hurt. "Why have you not been eating? And why do you not sleep at night?" he asked quietly. He had awoken at one point a few hours before dawn to see her stolidly sitting in the windowsill, in the same position she had been in when he had fallen asleep. Something was afoot, which was just the way the Healer liked it.

After thinking for a moment, Bronwe decided to answer somewhat truthfully, "I do not eat because I am not hungry and I do not sleep because I am not tired." She hoped he would take that at face value and leave her alone.

He wasn't content with that answer, but did not say anything more. He let her guide the horse for a few minutes, until her hands moved into a position where he could easily grab the reins from her should she fall asleep, as he hoped would happen. Gently, unobtrusively, he touched her shoulder, all of his senses reaching to understand what she suffered.

She had a feeling she knew what he was about, but Bronwe was beginning to suspect what was really wrong with her. If she was right, there was nothing he could do to prevent or cure it. Let him try if he wanted to, she wouldn't ask for help. As they rode, her headache lightened a little and the nausea lessened slightly. "What are you doing?" she asked finally, although she had a good idea already.

"Helping," he replied simply, as he sent subtle orders of sleep to her subconscious mind, knowing that a sleep-deprived mind was not a nice thing to reckon with.

She felt it then, the desire to sleep. It was the image of her riding in his arms that prompted her to fight it... and something else, "Please, stop. I have no wish to sleep at present."

Araphel thought he heard fear in her voice, but conscientiously, in fulfilling the capacity of Healer, could not let her continue to drive herself onward. She needed her rest, but if it was dreams she was afraid of, then he would do his best to keep her from them. The methods and ways of sleep had been one of his favorite areas of study, and there was no one more adept at sleep-manipulation as he. Dreamless sleep he could give her, and sent forth the impulse slowly but forcefully.

She was fighting a losing battle with heavy eyelids. The little sneak was at it again. She didn't ask for his help. Involuntarily, she leaned back against the solid form that was Araphel, relaxing slowly. As her head hit his shoulder, she managed to murmur, "Cheater," before she was out like a light.

He looked down with a sad smile. "On occasion, one finds out the hard way that cheating is the only viable means in certain situations." Thus saying, he urged the brown stallion a little faster, catching the reins from the Peacekeeper's limp hand. "Kaylee!" he shouted, causing the girl to clumsily halt Sparky before turning in the saddle. He trotted abreast of her, Bronwe safely balanced in his arms. "Will you ride with her?"

The Scout almost opened her mouth to ask why, but then thought better of it. He probably didn't want to give the elleth any false ideas or uncomfortable memories upon awakening. Then again, knowing Araphel, it was likely safe to say that whoever Bronwe first saw upon awakening would get the brunt of her wrath. Kaylee sighed. That wouldn't be anything new. She nodded curtly, and Araphel sidestepped the stallion until he could safely lift the Peacekeeper's light body across, seating her in front of the Scout.

"Thank you," he said simply, and she nodded again, her expression still closed with no trace of emotion. He hoped he wouldn't need to begin to worry about the welfare of the Scout as well. The small group couldn't afford to fall apart on one another. Not when they were all each other had.

The Leader looked over and wondered why Bronwe was now asleep on Kaylee's horse and smiled. This group of travelers was certainly the most unusual one he had been around lately. At least he wouldn't be bored with these people.

The sun was falling toward the horizon, with only an hour or so remaining until sunset when it happened. There was a strained bird-like whistle that echoed piercingly for a moment, and then little dark shapes were everywhere! In and out, darting through the horses' legs, causing those under less-than-firm control to rear alarmingly. The creatures were less than three feet tall, with shadowy features that caused them to blend in with the ever-lengthening shadows.

Firar was thrown from his pony with a wild cry of rage and came up mace swinging. Two of the things were swept aside by the onslaught, but the others were fleetfooted and danced around the Dwarf eagerly, swiping out at him with long fingers and laughing shrilly.

Bronwe wordlessly grabbed the reigns from Kaylee and managed to regain control of Sparky. Relying on instinct, Bronwe drew one of her new blades and held it in her right hand, ready for anything. Shooting a glance at Mychal, who was similarly trying to both control his horse and fend off the things. "What are they?" she managed to ask over the creatures' eerie laughter.

The Warrior had his sword out and was valiantly attempting to hack at the short monsters, who hopped around and jeered at the trapped riders. "They're imps!" he shouted over the din of their cries. "They waylay travelers and take anything shiny from them, adding to a massive horde that no man has ever lived to find. Or so the myths say!" He dismounted in an ungraceful leap and set about him with his long blade, the puppy in his saddlebag wriggling and barking at all the commotion.

Valimyr jumped off his horse and joined Mychal in sword-swinging at the creatures. "What's the best way of stopping these imps?"

"I do not know!" the man yelled back, pressing an attack at two of them and managing to get only one. "Firar! You are better acquainted with these things than I, what is to be done?" his voice carried a hint of panic as the thirty or so remaining things came at them again. Kaylee and Bronwe were the only ones still astride a horse, and the Scout was clinging tightly to Sparky's mane, while Bronwe fought to control the animal. Araphel had long since joined in the fight, his own sword gleaming in the setting sun's light.

The Keeper smashed an imp's head in before replying, "There is an old wives' tale that says if an imp is pierced at all by a sword dipped in the handler's blood, it will die." He paused to smash another out of his path in order to get to his pony, which had been surrounded by the beasts who were attempting to rifle through the packs on her back. "But then, it is only a tale."

The shrill giggling was grating on her nerves and Bronwe was losing patience. She turned and handed her knife to Kaylee with an abrupt, "Hold this, please." Without waiting for the girl to respond, Bronwe had rolled up her left sleeve and pointed her arm at the imps around Firar's pony. Narrowing her eyes slightly, she judged their movements and tapped her forearm. Instantly, two of the imps collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

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"Shkena! The Peacekeeper is cheating!" Austus bellowed as he watched the fight progress. "I told you we should have era-ized them _before_ bringing them to the Warrior's and Keeper's world!"

His wife didn't even turn her attention aside from the figure of Kaylee who was still holding the knife. "Austus, if it truly bothers you that much, then take care of it. I am far too busy watching to see if the Scout will overcome her fear of weapons. Do not disturb me with such trivialities!"

The demigod sighed to himself before idly snapping his fingers. Bronwe's Blazer clattered onto a table-top, fresh out of power. "Why must I do everything myself?" he demanded a bit petulantly to nobody.

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Bronwe tapped her bracelet again, but all she hit was her arm. Not having time to puzzle it out, she pulled her other knife from its sheath and leapt from the horse. Time to test an old wives' tale, then. She gritted her teeth and wrapped her left hand around the blade, cutting her palm and bloodying her knife. Clenching her hand in a fist, she then turned to the first imp she saw and slashed at it.

The wretched beings were quick. She would give them that, and she was out of practice. After a few misses, she managed to nick one in the arm.

The imp let out a hackle-raising shriek that was far worse than any sound Kaylee had ever heard before collapsing on the ground in a writhing heap and shriveling up like a raisin in the sun. She had lost Sparky's reins when Bronwe had jumped down, and was preoccupied with holding on with both hands and juggling one of the Peacekeeper's knives. Should she fight? She didn't want to, but the small skirmish was getting more intense, and already she'd had to kick aside several of the nasty creatures. She also had a sneaking suspicion that these imps would not retreat. It was all, or nothing.

There was another howling death-cry as Bronwe's blood-bathed blade found another imp. Sparky reared high and then kicked out, at last dislodging Kaylee from his back. She hit the ground and rolled, only to come up with several imps tangling their long, slender fingers in her hair and grabbing onto her dress. She punched, kicked, and even bit at them, struggling to her feet but unwilling to use the blade in her hand. Then she saw it. An imp who had somehow gotten a knife, no doubt from one of their packs, as it looked to be one of Firar's.

It leaped in one unprotected instant when Valimyr had his back turned, and Kaylee saw it move as if in slow motion. Then a horrific cry escaped it, and she saw the hilt of one of Bronwe's knives in the monster's back. But Bronwe was nowhere near Valimyr. In fact, she was by Firar's pony.

A warm trickle down her forearm and a stinging sensation brought Kaylee to reality. She had thrown the knife.

Valimyr turned upon hearing the imp's cry from behind and saw the look of astonishment on the Scout's face. He wished that he had time to say something more than a thanks to her at the time, but they were all busy. They could talk while they were catching their breath.

Araphel snatched the knife up from where it had fallen, handing it back to Kaylee without so much as a glance in her direction. She'd used the weapon once, she could do it again. His cheekbone was grazed and bleeding from where he'd brushed his own blade against it in a movement that ensured no momentum would be lost as he continued to fight. The sword was not of a style he was used to, and his adaptation to it was slower than he would have liked. A fifth imp fell before his blade.

Mychal had cut into the back of his wrist, and in a lucky strike, he mowed three of the beasts in half before they even had time to blink their yellow eyes. Firar had had to settle for knocking his mace into his nose, one of the only parts of his skin to be exposed due to his armor.

They moved too quickly for Bronwe's aching head to follow. Her reactions were dulled and her hair was getting in her eyes. All in all, she was holding her own against four or perhaps five when, unbeknownst to her, one of the imps grabbed the knife his comrade had dropped and threw it at her before launching himself on her, trying to steal her ring. The knife embedded itself deeply in her thigh. She bit back a cry and grabbed at the imp, throwing it several feet away. Staggering, the Peacekeeper managed to keep on her feet, and she growled slightly as she pulled out the knife with her cut hand and advanced awkwardly on the imp, two blades glistening menacingly.

The Scout had followed the exchange between the new knife-wielding imp and Bronwe and, slashing at several nasty little beasts that stood in her way without the intention of killimg, she hunted the one, the one who would do her team members harm. She saw the Peacekeeper limp towards the imp, but Kaylee was faster. Throwing herself forward, she hit home with her weapon before she would let herself think her action over.

Deprived of her target, Bronwe brushed her hair out of her eyes with the back of one hand and nodded at Kaylee, slightly surprised. Looking around, she realized the fight was winding down, and there were only eight or nine creatures still alive and leaping. As she lunged at a randomly hopping imp, the Peacekeeper wondered idly why they had not backed off—their numbers were decreased dramatically.

It had been a while since Valimyr had been in a fight of this sort. For several years now, the battles had been distant with no close contact with the other side, and he was finding himself very out of practice. As he was fighting an imp in front of him, he didn't see the imp behind him. As he lunged after its leaping form, the imp jumped unseen by all present onto the Leader's back bit down hard on his left shoulder. Valimyr cried out in pain as he grabbed the shrieking figure and threw it from his back. In one single movement, he sliced through the imp that had been his first target, then spun and as he pierced the recovering imp figure on the ground he shouted, "I dub thee Murphy!"

Araphel dispatched the last of his adversaries with a quick backhanded thrust and stood in the circle of shriveled bodies, panting slightly. His blood was mingled with a foul, grayish substance on his blade, and he wiped it unfeelingly on the corpse of an imp. Then he took stock of the others, in time to see Firar brain the last imp standing with his mace. He grimaced slightly as he returned his sword to its scabbard and then placed a hand firmly to his cheekbone, healing his self-inflicted wound before turning to the others.

The Keeper wiped blood from his face as he slipped his weapon back into the loop on his belt. He then set about frisking the remains of the imp horde for any useful items, as was his duty. He nearly stumbled over Kaylee, who was kneeling with one of Bronwe's knives still in her hand. She wasn't crying, but neither was she reacting in any way to the situation around her. So she had done it, then. She had used a weapon to kill. Mayhap she would emerge better from this experience, or so Firar hoped. He looked away from her empty, unemotional gaze, as it was beginning to unsettle him.

Cleaning his own sword with a scrap of cloth he kept tucked in his belt, Mychal surveyed the carnage and kicked at one beast before turning his back on the scene to think about regathering the panicked horses, none of which were in sight. Their hoofprints led in the direction of their chosen path, so he saw no immediate reason for worry...with the exception of the fact that they had lost all of their supplies.

Bronwe prodded one of the two unconscious imps with the tip of her boot dispassionately. Steeling herself, she walked solidly over to Kaylee and pried the knife from her cold hands. Kneeling beside the Scout, Bronwe wiped the blades on the grass before putting them away. She had seen shock on the battlefield before and knew the only remedy was time, warmth and companionship.

Firar was hefting a good-sized pouch that he had managed to fill nearly to capacity with coins and odd, shiny trinkets the imps had stolen from passers-by. All in all, a fine taking. They obviously had not had time to return to their lair before waylaying them, a fact that was all to their benefit. He heard the heavy gait of Mychal, and turned to see his friend with an impatience about him that demanded his full attention.

"They frightened off the horses, with all our supplies on them. Unless they are waiting just over the next hill, I suggest we go as far as we can before darkness obscures our path," he said in a low voice. "I haven't spoken to the Leader yet, but it's only a matter of time until he notices..."

Meanwhile, the Scout had risen from her frozen position and stood, arms crossed firmly across her chest in a closed posture. It hadn't been so bad, really. Part of her had wanted to hurt the thing, and it wasn't as if it had been human. She consoled herself with that fact, and walked silently to stand with the gathering knot that was her fellow questers.

Valimyr joined the group with his shoulder slightly limp. "Well, isn't this a lovely turn of events." he said, sarcasm dripping from every pore. "Our transportation has taken itself for a little run." He winced at the growing pain in his shoulder, but said nothing about it. The Leader sighed. "We'd better get going; waiting around will not help us any. And the sooner we start walking, chances are that the sooner we can catch up with our animals and supplies," he said as Bronwe joined the group.

"We will go nowhere until I have tended those wounded," Araphel said firmly. "The faster you tell me, the faster we will be able to chase our mounts."

Valimyr looked at the Healer as the words of Shkena returned to him. _Take charge, but do not forget the talents of those you are with._ He nodded. "Very well."

Firar was the first to step forward, gesturing stonily at his mace-marked features. Then went Mychal, followed by Kaylee. Lastly, the Healer turned to the two other immortals. Bronwe looked pale in the failing light, but that was not an unusual thing for someone who had just been involved in a skirmish. "Where did you cut yourself, Lady?" he asked quietly.

Wordlessly, Bronwe held out her left hand. She didn't mention the knife wound and was hoping he wouldn't see it. She would tell him, but not when she was the center of attention.

Valimyr pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal the bite. "My left hand as well as where I cut myself. That is all."

The other elf took care of the incisions, even as Mychal took Kaylee with him to try and catch a glimpse of the horses, hoping they hadn't gone too far and that the light would last them long enough in order to recover the animals.

Valimyr rolled his shoulder a few times to test it. "Thank you." Then he jogged up catch up with Mychal and Kaylee to help them spot the lost horses.

Araphel took a few steps towards their companions before realizing he was walking alone. Bronwe stayed standing where she was, watching the Leader run up the hill.

"There," Kaylee said as Valimyr reached them. "I don't know about distances, but those have got to be ours." She pointed to five trotting shapes no more than half a league away. "Anybody here a fast runner? Besides the girl in the dress?"

"I'm not a bad runner. I can go for long distances." The Leader spoke softly, but then he paused. "But if I go, how can I lead?"

Mychal put it simply, "You lead, and we shall follow. Araphel," and here he looked over his shoulder at the remaining three at the base of the small hill, gesturing with one hand for them to approach, "will gladly accompany you, I am sure."

The Healer and Firar approached together, and the Warrior explained what he wanted Araphel to do. With a glance and nod at the Leader, Araphel signaled his willingness to retrieve the horses. "I am ready when you are," he said.

Valimyr smiled. "Then let's go." As the two elves started to run down the hill, a thought occurred to the Leader. He turned to Araphel with a light in his eye. "I don't think you ever tried the biscuits, did you?"

Taken by surpise, Araphel answered truthfully, "No, I do not believe I was offered that...luxury. I was far too concerned with preventing my demise as Araphel the Hanged."

Valimyr laughed. "I suppose I was too," he replied and they ran off out of ear shot from the others.

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Key's A/N: Yay for seventeen page chapters!


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